Babydoll
by HerbalTea-and-Tarzan
Summary: He wanted to preserve her like a porcelain doll. She wanted to study him and his secrets. 1 hour with the Joker is the one thing standing between Masters student Emily and becoming a therapist. Afterwards, she's all he can think about, and what Joker wants, Joker gets. But they've been tricked. The manipulator becomes the manipulated, and only they can free each other. OC/Joker
1. Prologue

I shifted my carry-on vintage briefcase to the other hand as I sped through the terminal of the Denver airport. At two am in the morning there were hardly any people there, aside from a few fatigued looking air hostesses huddled together with their comfortable shoes and patterned ascots rolling their practical carry-on suitcases behind them, and a few bleary-eyed business men with backpacks trying to get out of the terminal as quickly as possible. No one looked suspicious or too terribly interested in me.

I tugged on the Peter Pan collar of my blouse underneath my violet peacoat. My heart was racing, and the blood pounding through my body made me uncomfortably warm despite it being January.

 _Just breathe. Relax. He couldn't have followed you here._

I reached into the pocket of my coat and pulled out my cell phone, turning it off of airplane mode. My phone buzzed immediately in my hand at the 3 hour late text notification from Dr. Carlson saying to call him when I landed in Denver. I had a 10 hour layover period until my connecting flight to Seattle. All I wanted was to find a hotel as quickly as possible and sleep within the confines of a securely locked room. But it was because of Dr. Carlson she was able to get on the earliest flight as far away from Gotham as possible without the inconveniences of language barriers, foreign money, and my expired passport.

Clicking his number, I raised the smart-phone to my ear, making sure to keep trekking forward towards the exit of the airport. It was large, and if I didn't pay attention I would get lost. I didn't want to run the risk of having to speak to a stranger. As far as I knew, no one could be trusted.

After the second ring, the other line became active.

"Woodward?" The voice was urgent, but still sounded tired, as if Dr. Carlson had dozed off while waiting up for me to call him.

"Yes, I'm here in Denver," I replied promptly and quietly, darting my eyes around me. No one was following me. As far as I could see.

"Good. I called my friend, Dr. Laurel, a psychology professor as the University of Denver to pick you up. I just got off the phone with him. He said he would be there at the airport to pick you up and take you to a hotel in about...thirty minutes," Dr. Carlson said carefully, as if he was being watched or listened to. I imagined that he had to look at his Rollex watch to be certain of the time. "Just stay by the doors for Arrivals and by the desks where there are people. Make sure someone can always see you. He'll go up to the desk to have them make an announcement for a Miss Em. That will be him."

"I understand. Thank you, Dr. Carlson. For everything." My stomach lurched. This was for the best. If it hadn't been for him she would have gotten out of Gotham later than she should have. It probably would have been too late.

There was an uneasy silence and I could hear the blood pumping through my ears. I swallowed hard. "Dr. Carlson?" My voice shook.

"Yes, Woodward?"

"You don't think he would have been able to find out where I've gone so quickly and have gotten here before me right? That's nearly impossible...Right?" A slight ease came over me over the thought of a positive answer.

He didn't say anything for what seemed like too long. All I could hear was heavy breathing on the other line, the kind he did when he was thinking intensely about something, and when he was worried.

"I sure hope it's impossible, Woodward. Call me when you're in your hotel room. Lock the door with all the bolts, close the blinds."

I hadn't realized that my footfalls had slowed until I had completely stopped, my suitcase weighing my arm down until it ached.

"A-alright, Dr. Carlson. Thank you."

"Godspeed, Woodward." Then he hung up. I took a deep breath in, filling my lungs with cool ventilated air that smelled of coffee, sweat, and cheese bagel sandwiches. It made me realize that I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. Before everything happened.

It would have to wait. I picked up my pace again, following the signs above me. I needed to get to the desks near the Arrival doors. Eating will happen in the morning when I got to the airport for my connecting flight. Maybe I'll even get that cheese bagel sandwich and a coffee. The thoughts comforted me. Only a little.

Only two minutes after getting off the phone with Dr. Carlson, I reached the desks near the doors leading outside to Denver, a handful of cars and taxis waited outside near the curb for their passengers. It was a pitch black night with bright lights looking out over the city. Whenever someone left through the sliding doors, a waft of thin icy air blew onto my face. Day old blackened snow had been piled up near the curbs to clear the roads.

The woman at the desk closest to me looked dead inside, occupied with something on her computer as a result of having nothing to do because of the lack of people in the airport. She had a plump and peachy face with her highlighted blonde hair tied behind her head in a French Twist. Her coral lipstick was fading after a long night at the desk. I wondered if she would do anything if something bad happened. I wished I could feel that relaxed right now. But it would be another 25 minutes until Dr. Laurel would arrive. I hoped he was rushing.

I pulled my peacoat collar closer around my throat, trying to keep the icy air out as a gentleman in a mended trench coat passed by me towards the sliding towards. He glanced at me briefly from above the bags underneath his eyes. I clenched my jaw, watching him suspiciously until he got into the backseat of a taxi and it drove off. I sighed, watching my breath puff out in front of my face first in a thin stream and then a thick cloud as it dissipated into the air again.

"A Miss Emily Woodward, please report to the Hertz Car Rental desk," a female voice on the intercom garbled out through the airport.

My heart skipped a beat. I looked around, not finding the desk that was mentioned. I turned, locking eyes briefly with the plump faced desk lady and she nodded off in the direction towards my left where the lines of car rental desks began before huffing out an annoyed sigh.

I mumbled an inaudible thank you and took off towards the row of rental car desks. I finally spotted the bright black and yellow Hertz sign and jogged to it, trying not to trip in my brown Oxford heels.

I was nearly out of breath when I reached it after lugging along my suitcase and the hefty leather backpack on my back. Even now I still don't think I packed enough books.

"Um...I'm Miss Emily Woodward. You asked me to come here?" I gasped, trying to fix my bangs that had fallen into my eyes.

This desk worker looked even more miserable than the last. She was about my mother's age with gray streaks through her dark brown hair, and make up trying to hide the deepening wrinkles on her face.

She glanced up at me, then back down at her computer. "The black car through those doors ahead. They said you called for them to pick you up."

I turned and barely saw the black car through the sliding doors leading to the pickup curb. It blended in with the tinted glass and the black night outside. It was rather early for Dr. Carlson's friend to be here already. I did hope he would rush.

"Thank you," I muttered, gathering myself and heading towards the doors.

When I finally reached the outside, the freezing air blew on my legs, guarded only by the black tights I was wearing. The car sitting in park in front of me was posh and waxed to a sheen that reflected the lights of the airport and the snow. It almost seemed too nice for a psychology professor. I felt the heaviness of sleep begin to form behind my eyes, making my lids droop slightly. What does it matter what kind of car a psychology professor has? As long as he was here.

The passenger door opened and a tall man stepped out and peered at me as he stood. My stomach lurched.

"D-Dr. Laurel?" I stuttered.

"That's right," the tall man replied briskly. As he walked around the car towards me, my stomach flipped and ached even more. He was huge even closer. He wore a dark suit, completely black, clean cut, with a chain and a gold watch around his thick wrist. Something didn't seem right.

I glanced around and saw that no more cars were waiting, at least close enough to for them to notice something. I looked back into the airport and saw that the woman at the Hertz Car Rental desk was preoccupied with her phone.

I thought I saw movement in the car, in the driver's seat, but the windows were too tinted to see anything clearly. It was all a fuzzy shadow.

I clutched my suitcase in my hand tighter, my knuckles turning white. He snatched it from me and in two long strides he reached the trunk where he threw it in. My breathing had grown heavier. He opened the door to the back of the car, revealing expensive black leather seats.

"Get in," he ordered. His voice was so deep and threatening that I almost complied right then and there for fear of him stepping on me or assaulting me.

I chewed on me lip and furrowed my brow, taking a hesitant step back, almost tripping on my shoes.

"Wh-who's in the driver's seat?" I asked.

"The driver," the tall man replied frankly, taking a step toward me.

"Dr. Carlson didn't say that you would be bringing anyone else with you. I'm sure he told you the importance of this-"

"I said get in!" He barked. The snap was so loud it made me jump nearly ten feet in the air. My head tilted back to look at his 6'5 form looking down at my 5'1 stature as I inched towards the car. I reached slowly into my peacoat pocket for my phone, ready to bolt and run back inside the airport and call 911.

I was suddenly whisked off my feet as the man grabbed my arm and shoved me into the backseat of the car. My hand was ripped from my pocket and I dropped my phone. It hit the door of the car and landed on the curb.

 _No!_

The car door slammed and I tried to reach for the other side to escape when I felt a hand grab my arm. My vision was blurred with lights reflecting off black leather as my glasses slid off my nose. I managed to look up and focus my sight clearly on one face, pale as death and painted with makeup and grinning at me with glittering silver teeth guards, turned to me from the drivers seat.

 _No! No!_

I tried to scream but was silenced when I felt a hand clamp tightly over my mouth. He tugged me towards him, his fingers digging into my face. It was then that I saw the needle in his hand. My hands gripped the edges of the driver's and passenger's seat, trying to tug myself away from him. He only tightened his grip on my face, causing my back teeth to cut into my mouth, tasting blood, as I tried to wriggle free. My screams came out muffled until I felt a pinch in my neck. My eyesight blurred even more and all I could see were the abstract fuzzy shapes of bright green, red, black, and white.

"Did you miss me, _Babydoll_?" He growled, the grin still wide on his face. " _Ha ha ha ha_..."

I fell into enveloping darkness.

* * *

 **I'm gonna give this a shot. I hope you like it :) Please leave a comment, favorite and follow!**


	2. Chapter 1: The Final

**Hi everyone! There was such a great reception to the prologue and I am so happy that people like it so far! Here is the next chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

 _4 months earlier_

I wondered if my daisy printed navy blue dress was professional enough to wear to my Masters final. Psychotherapists were supposed to look professional right? My body was overtaken by a case of anxious jitters. Psychotherapist? What's a psychotherapist? What am I doing here again?

I had spent the night before pouring over the patient file my professor gave me. No name. It had been colored over with black Sharpie. This was the infamous final that every Psychology Masters student at Gotham University had to pass to become a licensed psychologist and move on to write their PhD thesis.

Few passed.

And none spoke about it.

I remembered sending Facebook messages to all of my friends who had taken the test.

They all saw the message, but none responded.

It made me wonder if they were sworn to secrecy. Another part of me that made my stomach lurch thought that they just couldn't bring themselves to talk about it. They wouldn't even tell me who it was.

It kept me up almost the whole night before the final. The patient file they had me study was...unreal. The patient clearly was a lost case. A criminal, deemed mentally insane, and incredibly dangerous. A psychopath. And my department wanted to put me in a room with him for a 1-hour session.

The thought alone was enough to keep anyone awake at night. Part of me thought it was cruel, but it was my final. I was so close to becoming a licensed psychotherapist and then I could have patients of my own and begin writing my thesis. I had come too far to back out now. I would not only be disappointing my parents, but my mentor and professor, Dr. Carlson, who saw the potential in me 2 years ago when I interviewed with him about joining the Masters program at Gotham University. He took me under his wing and aided me in all of her classes. I had the highest GPA in the school because of my hard work and his aid. If I didn't pass this or even show up, I would never feel I could show my face to him again.

The thought made me tug at the sleeves of my tweed jacket as I walked towards the security gate of Arkham Asylum.

The September sun in the sky made the place look less grim, aside from the towering guard posts looming over the large building on high alert. A shiver went up my spine and I almost tripped on a crack in the cement, scuffing my brown loafers.

"You okay there, Woodward?" A voice called out.

I saw the tall and sturdy figure of Dr. Carlson standing by the entrance of the security gate accompanied by the security booth and a man dressed all in white holding two visitors passes.

I shifted the files and my book under my arm nervously as I approached. His own tweed jacket gave me comfort that I was dressed somewhat appropriately. I needed everything to be perfect today.

His massive, warm hand enveloped mine as we greeted each other. I could tell by the ring tan on his left hand that he had signed his divorce papers this morning, and he couldn't seem happier about it.

'25 years flushed down the toilet with her,' Dr. Carlson had once confided in me as soon as lawyers were hired.

I wish I could feel that happy right now.

He handed me my visitor pass with a raised eyebrow.

"You ready?"

My voice got caught in my throat and a nod was all I could muster.

The gates opened.

* * *

I had to keep reminding myself that my personal items, my phone, wallet and car keys, were safe at the visitor's desk on the first floor as soon as I followed Dr. Carlson through a locked door on the top floor. I couldn't shake the uneasiness in my body the moment I stepped into Arkham. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that I was in a building that had the highest security next to the White House, only that I was merely minutes away from the final exam that could determine my future as a psychologist.

 _Relax. Breathe. Remember your breathing exercises. You have nothing to worry about. You have been preparing for this your entire life. You are so close, don't give up now!_

A blast of cold air hit my face and flashed my bangs off of my forehead, cooling my warm face and slowing my heartbeat.

Thank goodness.

I was met with a half-a-dozen stares, and the gray flashing of television monitors. My heartbeat sped up again.

The patient's profile had stated that in the therapy office where I would be holding the session had cameras. This flustered me not only because I would be watched and analyzed by the whole faculty of the Psychology Department, but because it violated therapists #1 rule: the patient's information mustn't be shared.

I wondered if it was because he was a dangerous criminal. I mean, they shared his file with me, maybe it was because this was a collective therapy; this patient had multiple therapists. Or maybe it was because he was the exception. Nothing he said or did should ever be kept secret.

In the dimly lit monitor room, the multiple television screens displayed black and white videos from various hallways and rooms within the asylum, and even some outside spying on the gates and watch-towers. One screen remained black. The entire Gotham University Psychology Department faculty sat in chairs in front of the monitors, their eyes fixed on me, their faces sullen and serious.

I swallowed hard and shook hands with them all.

"Miss Woodward, this is Allen Push," Dr. Carlson introduced me to a thin gentleman. His hair was neatly combed back and the lines in his faces were so deeply set that I was certain he had never smiled in his life. "He is Head of Security here at Arkham, and he will be here to make sure that if anything happens he and security will act quickly."

I assumed that was said to make me feel better. It didn't.

I cleared my throat. "It's good to meet you. Thank you for...uh...your possible assistance today." I felt embarrassed heat rise to my face as I shook his hand weakly. "If you don't mind my asking," I continued, straightening my shoulders, "isn't it a serious breech of privacy for the patient to have his sessions recorded?"

The eyes of the faculty shifted to one another, but I couldn't read what any of them meant.

"For your security during your final, we will keep the monitor on," Allen Push replied.

Dr. Carlson coughed. "Very good, Miss Woodward. It'll be just for your final today. We otherwise, uh, don't record the sessions."

I felt my heartbeat slow, but my cheeks were still warm from my statement. I hated being a rule-breaker. I never made any exceptions. I was always called a "good two-shoes" growing up, but then again, I never got arrested, detention, or so much as a timeout after the age of 7. The rules were there for a reason. However, this wasn't my test to give.

"I understand, thank you," I replied, my lips pursed.

"Very good," Dr. Carlson said, an awkward smile plastered under his thin, long nose.

I eyed the clock on the wall above the door behind me. 5 minutes till 11, when the session started.

"In that case," I began, my chest tightening, "I should need to know who my patient is."

The room grew so tense and quiet that I could hear the screaming of a patient a floor beneath us. I pushed the rim of my large horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of my nose, my hand shaking.

"Your patient, Miss Woodward," Dr. Peabody sitting in front of me began, drawing her pale lips into a thin wrinkled line. She looked at Dr. Carlson, who gave her an approving nod. She locked eyes with me. "Is none other than the King of Gotham himself: The Joker."

I instantly felt the blood drain from my face. When did the room start spinning?

"Miss Woodward?" Someone asked.

"Yes," I managed to say through my tight throat.

"Will you be alright?"

"Yes," I repeated.

Breathe. Remember to breathe. You can't back out now.

But it was _him_. The Joker. The psychopath himself. I remembered reading in the newspapers 2 years ago when I came to Gotham to start my Masters degree that the Bat had caught him and he was being put into Arkham Asylum. The headline was everywhere.

 _The Clown Prince Caught by the Bat!_

 _Crime Lord Caged!_

 _Batman vs. Joker: Batman Wins!_

The Joker was an anomaly to a psychologist, and now, remembering the file tucked under my arm, everything made sense. It was then that I finally admitted to myself that I was scared of my patient. The file alone would have brought a chill up anyone's spine; it was detailed and gruesome, outlined with every mental and emotional observation. But finally putting a name to it, humanizing it just a little, and not to mention _his_ name...this only made my situation more frightening.

I had to do a 1 hour therapy session with the Joker.

No wonder my friends never talked to me about it.

"Miss Woodward," Dr. Carlson began, his voice emanating that of an executioner. "For your final exam to become a licensed psychotherapist and to write your PhD thesis, you must complete a 1 hour long therapy session with the patient known as The Joker. If you come out early, you fail your exam. If you do not pass a psychological exam following the full 1 hour therapy session, you fail your exam. Do I make myself clear?"

My mouth had gone dry and my feet were glued to the spot. Now I understood why so few passed the exam, and those who did, don't speak of it.

"Y-yes, Dr. Carlson," I tried to reply as confidently as I could. Now was not the time to chicken out.

"Very good. Please follow me."

I followed him out of the monitor room, risking a glance back at my professors, their eyes full of doubt. My stomach twisted; not out of nervousness, but frustration.

"I hate to see such a sweet girl go into that room with that monster."

"He'll eat that girl alive before she can even squeak out a word."

My face flushed as their murmurs faded behind the closing of the door. They had a reason to be doubtful; a petite bookworm with an affinity for ruffly lace blouses, vintage patterns, and musicals. The girl with the face of an 18 year old and the sweetness of strawberry tea. Her soft-spoken nature, except when it came to rules or psychology principles, melted everyone's hearts.

I clenched my teeth. Well not today. I was determined to prove that I had what it took. I steadied my breathing and cleared my mind.

We had traveled down the hall where two armed guards stood watch in front of two closed doors.

Dr. Carlson turned to me. "Are you ready?"

I turned to him and saw the eager, worried look on his face. I took another deep breath and nodded confidently.

"You'll do fine. I know you will. Just one thing though...don't let him get inside your head."

I chuckled, trying to bring some humor to my situation. "You didn't bring me to see Hannibal Lecter, Dr. Carlson."

He stared at me for a second, his eyebrows knit with a hint of worry.

"No, I didn't," he replied. "The Joker is much worse."

My heart skipped a beat as he nodded his head towards the double doors, signaling that it was time. I turned to the doors and walked between the two guards. My hand shook as I clutched the cool handle and opened the door.

* * *

 **Thank you all so much for reading! I know I left it on a cliffhanger! I'm a little puzzled as to what to do with structure of the story. I have some thoughts and ideas, so please tell me how you like it as it goes along! The comments have been so kind and now I hope I don't disappoint.**

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	3. Chapter 2: Haze

**Hi everyone! I'm currently writing and revising a huge chapter for you all and it might take an extra day or two to refine. I want to get multiple sets of eyes to look it over before I post it. In the meantime, I wrote this. I know it's short, but the next chapter will be longer :)**

* * *

 _Present_

My face stuck to the leather like gum to a sidewalk.

There was a loud buzzing, an engine revving wildly underneath where I lay sprawled.

 _VVVVvvvvvvvVVVVVVVVVVVVVVvvvvvvvvv_

A car.

I tried peeling my cheek from the leather seat, but my muscles were so loose and numb that, with a final sigh of exhaustion, I rested back on the warm leather. My back felt like it was being held down by a hundred bricks. It wasn't until I felt the strap adjuster digging into my shoulder did I realize that it was my backpack.

I could only lift my eyelids a crack, but all I could see were black blurs with golden lights flashing over the black upholstery of the car like lightening bolts.

How fast were we going?

Murmurs.

Maybe they were speaking louder, but blood pumped through my ears, elevating the pounding in my brain, and distorting their words.

I forced myself to lift my heavy arm, managing to graze my fingers over the soft leather of the driver's seat in front of me.

 _Wait...Please...Don't do this..._

"Pul...ishh..." My throat was raw and heavy, my beg didn't come out as anything more than a whimper of gargled syllables. They didn't seem to hear me at all.

A tear managed to escape from the crack in my eye, rolling over the bridge of my nose.

My arm flopped back down to the floor of the car, skimming the rims of my glasses.

So tired...

But I didn't want to lose consciousness again. I wanted to fight. Get their attention.

Where was I again?

I _was_ in Denver.

How did he get here so quickly?

Where were we driving to now?

We couldn't be going back to Gotham.

 _Too far_...

I let my eyelid close to blink away another tear but it didn't open again as I drifted back under my delirious spell.

* * *

 **Thanks so much to everyone who is following this story. I had no idea it would take off the way it has. Next chapter will be coming soon!**

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	4. Chapter 3: J

**Hi everyone! I'm so happy you all like it so far! This chapter took a while to write because I wanted to get Mr. J just right. I tend to write a majority of these by hand and then type them out and edit them. I had two of my best friends beta this chapter and I want to thank them for their help and advice! Enjoy!**

* * *

"You're late."

The voice, a breathy grinning snarl, pierced my pounding chest, making it skip a beat.

The loud ticking of the clock on the wall at the other end of the room marked the time as 5 past 11.

The room was bigger than I thought it would be. The dimly lit therapy room was more like a recreation room. There were some light colored IKEA bookshelves with some books stacked lazily on the shelves, some abstract painting in the calming colors of blue, green and purple, and various small nick-knacks. In the center of the room was a cheap, square table with two chairs facing each other across the table. Sitting in one chair was the Joker.

He stared at the clock on the wall ahead of him, a red grin on his gaunt face. I swallowed, thankful he wasn't looking at me. Not at that moment anyway.

I closed the door, the soft click turning his gaze to me. I forced a pleasant smile on my face, my eyes going soft.

"Forgive me, I'm usually very punctual," I replied, my voice cracking a little. I covered it with a small clearing of my throat.

He looked like a long black and white caterpillar, strapped tightly in a dirty straitjacket, and his long black clad legs reaching out underneath the table. His venomous splash of bright green hair was combed back out of his pale face.

The windows facing west away from the sun cast gray shadows across the room. An overhead light flickered, gravely close to burning out. I took a deep breath through my nose, taking in the sickly, chemical scent of lemon infused cleaning products, making the room smell like a harsh mixture of sanitary and cancerous.

"You can come closer. The lighting in here is so terrible," his voice droned, dripping with menace.

That was when I realized I hadn't moved. I straightened my shoulders and stepped towards the table, removing my file and books from under my arm.

"Well aren't you just _adorable_? He sang condescendingly. I clenched my jaw as I took my seat across from him. When I looked up at his face, he was leaning into the table, his painted smile wide and open, glimmering with silver teeth grills. He gazed at me hungrily, like he was a child who had just found a new toy to play with. His eyebrows had been shaved off, making it harder to understand any deeper lying expressions. I tried not to let the unsettling feeling in my chest creep to my face.

My prim lips twitched into a smile.

"Thank you." I opened his file in front of me, grabbing out the pen and notepad. "So how are you feeling today?"

"Blah blah blah _blah blah_." Joker rolled his eyes, ringed with black and red. " ** _Come on, Doctor_ _!_** "

His sudden shout filled the silence and made me jump in my seat, a frightened squeak escaping my throat.

" _Ha ha ha_..." Joker laughed. It was deep and throaty, unlike anything I've ever heard. A chill ran up my spine. "Did I scare ya?"

I placed a hand on my chest, my heart pounding through it, and released a chuckle. "Just a little. But like a jump scare. Thrilling." I was certain it came out sounding nervous.

"I'm thrilling, am I?" He growled. My cheeks grew warm.

"I didn't introduce myself," I started quickly, standing from my seat and reached over with my hand held out. "My name is Emily...Woodward...Oh...sorry." My hand twitched back across the table. He wriggled in his straitjacket.

I hit my butt to the chair again, embarrassed.

"Emily Woodward..." My name sounded like caramel in his mouth; salty, smooth, a little sweet, and stuck there. "No 'Doctor' then?"

I opened my mouth to speak.

"Oh no, wait, you're one of Gotham U's little Masters students." His grin widened. "Perfect. They're my favorites, ya know. They come in here so eager and confident. The best part is after I eat away at their minds they run screaming out of here. Or even better, end up in here with me."

I remembered hearing about Laurence Abernathy last year; he was set to take the final, and after it was done he never returned to complete his PhD. Next I heard he had been admitted to Arkham. I hadn't thought about that until now, and it made me draw my lips into a thin line and take a shallow, shaky breaths.

"Ha ha ha...We're gonna have _lots_ of fun, ain't we?"

My breath caught in my throat. I pushed my lips into a smile. "We can if you want to."

He cocked his head to the side, eyes serious. "Careful, sweet cheeks."

I leaned into the table, an eyebrow raised. "I didn't come here to fail."

His face broke out into another spine shivering grin.

I sat back in my chair with a click of my pen.

"Well, I'm assumin' you know everything about me then," Joker began, his mood suddenly changing.

I shrugged. "Well, only the technical stuff." Now it started to feel like an actual session.

"None of the juicy stuff," Joker concluded.

"Not in my opinion," I replied, folding my hands on the table.

"And what would you say the juicy stuff is that you want so badly?" He growled. I could sense a hint of crudeness. A blush crept to my cheeks. I flicked my bangs away from my eyes, keeping my gaze on the calligraphic J tattoo on his left cheek.

"We can get to that later," I replied.

" _Ha ha ha_..."

He was amused. Good. Better to keep him like that. The file read that he was temperamental, changeable.

"And what'd you bring with you there?" His eyes gazing at my book to the side of his file.

I picked it up, showing him the cover.

"Little Women, _how sweet_ ," Joker read, the condescending tone returning to his voice.

"I always bring a book with me wherever I go. It's a great conversation starter, or in case I get bored...It's comforting to have around, too. Sort of like a portable friend."

"A portable friend," he repeated, mimicking a sigh. "My toy today is a sweet little bookworm."

I flinched at his usage of the word 'toy', but I kept smiling. "It's one of my favorite books. Do you have one? I like recommendations."

He threw his head back, sighing with frustration and baring his silver teeth. "You know, you therapists love to stick your pretty little noses into other people's business."

I put the book down, keeping a confused smile on my face. "I'm sorry?"

"They always ask those little questions, the loaded ones trying to find out why I am the way I am, they're so obvious. But you..." His eyes bore into mine. " _You_ do it a little differently. Almost make me believe you're actually interested." The words sounded like he was spitting something disgusting out, something he was tired of having in his mouth.

I wasn't sure if this was a compliment. It was my job to observe him, to treat him, to be someone he could talk to. But he was right, a lot of things that therapists ask are with an ulterior motive, technically.

I shrugged. "Maybe it's because I'm good at hiding things."

He smirked. "Not that good, rosy cheeks."

My hand shot to my face. It was warm. He chuckled.

"Well..." I began. "It probably has something to do with the fact that I minored in Theater in my undergrad years. To help me with understand the psychology of characters, and therefore people. During those years I learned how to act, to hide feelings, become another person."

" _How exciting_ ," Joker gleamed. It was difficult to see if he was being sarcastic, but this suddenly got him off of being annoyed.

"It was fun, I got to be in lots of shows, play all sorts of characters," I continued, keeping him occupied while I formulated where to turn the conversation.

"Like what?" He asked, mischief in his eyes.

 _Don't let him get into your head_... Dr. Carlson's words echoed through my brain.

I smiled and averted my gaze. "Stuff you probably haven't heard of."

"Try me," Joker dared me, his smile widening.

I couldn't help myself but smile back. "Well, I played Nora in A Doll's House, a Chorus Member in Agamemnon, Polly Peachum in 3 Penny Opera-"

"Aaaah," Joker cooed. "A singer."

I rose an eyebrow. "You know Brecht?"

"Why am I not surprised that this doll sitting in front of me and trying to crack my brain is a little songbird too?" He inhaled the words like he was in a phase of intoxicated pleasure.

My smile grew without me realizing it. He smiled in return, though his smiles were never kind nor compassionate; they were the smiles of a madman who seemed to be getting what he wanted. And I was giving it to him. And it was easy.

I twirled my pen in my hand for a second and then jotted down a note in the notepad. In that second I felt his eyes staring hot holes into my skin. When I looked up, I noticed his disposition had changed to something agitated, and heated. He was eyeing my pen and my notepad. A lump grew in my throat and I put the pen down as I swallowed.

"So tell me, how does a dollface like you end up pursuing a psychology degree that lands her in a final with me? He asked me, wriggling his shoulders in the straitjacket. I had almost forgotten he was wearing it.

"I seem to be doing a lot of talking for a therapy session that's all about you," I replied.

"Oh, but I'm far more interested in learning about you," he growled, his eyes darkening.

My stomach jumped at the change in his tone and I knew that I was treading in dangerous waters. I only had one new thing for him, something that wasn't in his files. That must have set him off. He liked to remain a mystery. But I only had so much time left with him, and I wanted more. I _needed_ more.

"I'll answer your question if you answer one of mine. Just a small one," I said calmly.

He raised his hairless brows. Maybe I was in a safe zone again. "Oh, a bargainer are we?"

He slammed his knees up into the table, jolting it up, with an inhuman growl. I shrieked and jumped up from my chair, accidentally pushing it to the floor.

"How does _this_ sound for a _bargain_?! How about you leave here now or I _bash_ your pretty little skull into the _fucking table_?! Or even better, how about we do that and see if _you_ can remember anything from your _fucking_ life worth answering a useless question for?!" He screamed.

My heart was pounding so fast I almost thought it wasn't pounding at all. Was I dreaming? Maybe this was all one huge nightmare and as soon as he ripped through his straitjacket, he would slam my head down onto the table and I would wake up, maybe on the day of an actual final where I gave a presentation or something mediocre enough to give me a passing grade.

But this wasn't a nightmare.

I was here, this was my life, and this was my final.

My eyes darted to the double doors where I had come in, and then to the corners of the room, looking for the cameras. Would Dr. Carlson, and Allen Push, and security be coming for me? I heard no rustling outside as an indication that anyone was going to interfere. That meant I couldn't be in any real danger.

Joker was just trying to scare me.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms till they stung. I met his stare and held it. He looked like an enraged animal, ready to pounce and claw out my innards.

I reached behind me, clutched the fallen chair and sat it back up. Without breaking his gaze, I leaned into the table, gripping the edges.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said, my voice unwavering, "until our hour is up." And I sat down.

I could have cut the tension in the room with a hot knife. It seemed like forever that we stared at each other.

Then he pulled his lips up into a slow gut-wrenching grin.

" _Ha ha ha haaa_..."

My jaw tightened.

" _ **Thrilling**_ , aren't I?"

And just like that the tension that had arrived so suddenly and sat like a steaming dragon, was gone. He had been trying to rile me up, scare me out of the room. I had to remind myself that this was a game to him. I was a 'toy'. The only way I was going to get him to talk was if I opened up first. But Dr. Carlson's words rang in my head again. Was it a rule or a warning? I had to decipher it quickly if I was going to get anywhere.

"I want to help people," I said, taking my pen and clicking it closed. I pushed it, and my notepad, away from me to show him I wasn't recording anything he said or did anymore. "That's the answer to your question."

"That's the answer they all give. What's the real answer?" He growled.

I bit my lip, my ears ringing.

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere. Something juicy, isn't it? A big bad secret," he cooed.

I mustered a shrug. "It's nothing too spectacular."

"Oh, but I think it is. Your dollface just gave it away," he growled, leaning over the table.

"You haven't earned it yet," I replied, shifting in my seat. His expression mocked offense. "There has to be a little give and take. You haven't given me much."

He rolled his eyes. "All you therapists ever want me to do is talk and talk and talk, when it's so clear..." he rolled his head to the side to look at me, "that you're the ones with the problems."

"Then why are you the one in the straitjacket?" I speculated.

Something sparkled in his eyes just then.

It was then that I began to wonder what he really looked like without all of the makeup and extravagance. But I suddenly realized that it was pointless to try to think of him like that, not right now anyways. Trying to imagine him as a human was something I couldn't fathom when he sat here like an anomaly in front of me, eyes glistening with an enlightening thought. "We have to take a look at the people who put me in it. They all think I'm a threat, but not the way you think I am. I'm a threat to society in that I can disassemble their perfect little world and make it my bitch." He spoke as if he were on a stage, and I was his audience, enticed and frozen in my seat at his mystifying words and mesmerizing performance. "You see, babe, I'm an _**idea**_!" The word was magic, an illuminating light bulb, on his tongue as he rolled his head towards the ceiling, watching the word flit by. "What I strive for is to inspire. Show people their potential."

Their potential to be destructive, psychopathic killers? My hand itched for my pen and notepad. I wanted to get this down, but I was afraid I would lose him like last time. I would just have to remember it and write it down later, or at the end of the session.

"So...you're an idea, not a man," I replied.

"Oh, no, I'm a man, sweetheart," he purred, his eyes darkening again. His shoulders rolled in his straitjacket. "I'm flesh and blood like all the rest of you." His grayish-green eyes bore into me like burning cigarette butts on skin. "I have _**needs**_ ," he continued, wriggling some more in his fabric prison. "I have _**desires**_." Every word he said was a seductive hiss. "I have lusts and obsessions." My heart pounded faster and faster with every word. I couldn't break his gaze and I suddenly felt like a target, that every word he was saying was meant for me. "What I do is remind people of their demons; that their measly little lives are useless without owning them!"

The silence rang and all that could be heard was the ticking of the clock behind me.

That wasn't in his file. I felt like I was just subject to a secret, a deep dark one that most people knew but refused to speak of, a taboo. And it was his nihilism.

I drew in a breath to speak.

"Careful, you only have 5 minutes left," Joker interrupted.

I twisted my head around and saw he was right. The clock read 12:00 on the dot, and I had entered 5 minutes late. Where did the time go? I was never going to get everything I needed out of him. I was never going to say everything I wanted to say.

"I'm surprised you've made it this long," Joker said. My head snapped back to him. "I'll admit, the moment you walked in here, I didn't think you'd last 5 minutes."

I chuckled. "Well, you're not the only one."

"Doubter, are we?"

"Not me," I replied.

He smiled. "I can't imagine why anyone would doubt you. But you know," he continued, licking his crimson lips, "you're the only one who's bitten back. And I can't say I'm not impressed."

There was no way of stopping the blush pooling in my cheeks.

I cleared my throat, my foot tapping on the linoleum tiles. "From what I've gathered, aside from the Masters students, you don't like therapy sessions very much, do you?"

"I don't like being bored to death with loaded questions," he sighed. "Nor do I like swallowing your observations 5 times a day with water."

There was a knock at the door. That was it. The end of my session.

Joker and I held each others gazes for a moment, without saying anything.

I grabbed my notepad and pen finally. "Well...that's my cue." I folded his file and stacked my book on top of it, standing. "It was...interesting to meet you...and talk to you...Mr. Joker."

"Oh," Joker said after a beat, "the pleasure was all mine, Emily." He said it like it was a grand gesture. I'm sure if he could he would have bowed extravagantly with the entirety of his long, lithe body. Instead there was only that large red grin that sends chills up the spine.

I turned to head to the door.

"I hope to see you again," he said, just as my hand grasped the door's handle.

I turned, meeting his stare. My smile came easier than I thought it would. "So do I."

* * *

 **And there it is! Their first meeting! This was a doozy to write. Mr. J came rather easily, but I wasn't sure how realistic and believable he would be with my Emily. A special thanks again to my best friends for reading it over and giving me feedback to make this better. You know who you are!**

 **Please leave a review to tell me what you think, and favorite and follow if you want more!**


	5. Chapter 4: Screaming

_Present_

 _What is that God awful screaming?_

It echoed in my ears and rang through my head. _Why can't I lift my arms?_

I felt like I was being jerked through the air on a limp cloud...upside down. My diaphragm was being crushed and I couldn't breathe properly. My arms brushed against cool snake-like leather. I could only brush my fingers against it, despite my attempts to try and clutch it, at anything. We ascended closer to the screaming, now sounding more like a consistent ring.

I tried to make my thoughts clear again but everything was still so clouded. Denver...car...blackness...backpack? I didn't feel the weight of my backpack on my back like I had earlier. Where was it?!

My body, limp like a rag-doll, convulsed as it hit plush leather seats. _Too tired...Can't open my eyes_. My lids were so heavy.

I heard speaking, a raised voice. My heart, already beating heavy and slow, skipped a beat with utter fear. They sounded so far away, contorted by my sleepiness and the high-pitched ring.

" _Ha ha ha ha_..." the only thing that sounded clear to my ears. Psychedelically distinguishable.

Bright, poisonous clouds of color billowed in the darkness of my closed eyes.

 _Is this what it feels like to lose your mind?_

* * *

 **Thanks for reading guys! I'll have the next chapter up in a few days! It'll be a nice long one!**

 **All writing and no reviews makes Herbal a very sad girl ;) Haha Please Review if you have feedback of any kind, and Follow and Favorite if you want more!**


	6. Chapter 5: Verdict

**Hi everyone! Thank you all so much for reading this far. I have a nice long chapter for you! Enjoy!**

* * *

Two weeks following the therapy session, I awoke in my studio apartment at 9:34 in the morning with warm light flowing through the lace curtains of my tiny studio apartment. Every morning preceding the final had been the same like always: wake up, make a cup of tea and some English muffins, check email and/or assignments, take a bath, read, and go to class or run errands. Wash, rinse, repeat. And even though I carried out this routine religiously, it never felt the same as it had been before the final exam.

Since I finished the psychological exam following the final, I waited anxiously in front of my computer in the mornings refreshing my email for the one thing I wanted the most.

Maybe Dr. Carlson would call and let me know.

In that case, I checked my phone every hour just in case I had any new missed calls and made sure it was always charged. I didn't want to run the risk of missing it over something so trivial.

But the anxiety awaiting for my verdict with the Psychology Department wasn't the real reason everything felt askew. I had been thinking about the final itself. It replayed over and over in my mind like a broken record. Everything he said and they way he said it.

He truly was an anomaly.

I knew that I was fine coming out of the session, taking everyone for a loop when I came out after the whole hour. Everyone who had been watching in the monitor room shook my hand, each one equally or more so impressed than the other. That was when I knew that I had something to be proud of.

But the anticipation was killing me, and no amount of Earl Grey tea could calm me down.

To spruce things up that morning, I decided to take a long bath first. The apartment complex I lived in was old and outdated, but I somehow preferred it. The shower head hanging over the cracked, claw-footed bathtub spat out rhythmic splashes of water, mostly in different temperatures, making it difficult to shower. I often thought about calling the owner of the building to get it fixed but I decided it's almost worth it to wake up a little earlier to relax in the tub with a book in the morning.

Soaking in the bubbles did relieve some of the anxiety and anticipation. It lifted the weight of routine from my chest.

As I strode through my apartment in my robe with a towel draped over my head like a nun, I resisted going to my computer immediately. Tea first, then make breakfast, and _then_ check email.

I even ate a couple of orange slices and a few bites of my English muffin before turning on my laptop. But as soon as I opened my web browser I rushed to my email account, my fingers taking over and typing and clicking rapidly. I bit my lip as it loaded, and my heart jumped when I saw two new emails waiting for me. One of them was from Dr. Carlson.

Before clicking on it, I took a deep breath. If I didn't, nothing would have stopped me from reading through it at a pace faster than the speed of light, and then I would have had to read through it again only slower because I missed too much information.

I clicked on the email.

 _Dear Miss Woodward,_

 _We here are at Gotham University's Psychology Department are proud to inform you that you have passed your Masters final and psychological evaluation! You have been approved to continue to study for your PhD thesis, and to become a licensed psychology in the city of Gotham._

 _The faculty of the Psychology Department and I were incredibly impressed with your performance during your final and you have exceeded our expectations in your work while enrolled at Gotham University. We hope you have given some thought to what you would like to write your PhD thesis about. Let's schedule a meeting for next week so we can talk about subjects and the process to get your certification._

 _Once again, congratulations!_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Dr. Emmett Carlson_

 _Gotham University_

 _PS. I am incredibly proud of you!_

My heart beamed with a mixture of overwhelming feelings; pride, joy, disbelief. I knew I had done well and there was no way I could have failed horribly.

I quickly typed out a response message to Dr. Carlson with my availability during the next week and clicked send with the utmost satisfaction I had felt in two weeks.

I grabbed my phone and sent a quick text to Staz, a Psychology PhD student and my closest friend in the department, letting him know the great news.

My phone buzzed almost immediately.

 _Lunch 12:30 Star Ginger TELL ME ALL ABOUT IT_

Several days after the final and my psychological evaluation we had planned to get lunch together. I was a little peeved that he didn't tell me who I was going to be having the therapy session with when I asked him. He had been one of the ones who saw the Facebook message I sent and didn't reply. But he canceled saying that he forgot about a meeting with Dr. Carlson and the faculty about his thesis. So we decided to have lunch to talk about the final when I got the email from Dr. Carlson, whether it was for celebration or failure.

I grinned and texted him back.

 _I'll be there_

* * *

"I almost want to do it again," I told Staz. He stopped mid-chew of his orange chicken and stared at me like I had a rabbit on my head. "That was the most exciting thing I've ever done as a student here in Gotham. I've never felt so inspired or enlightened."

We sat at a table near the front window of the restaurant, Gotham residents strolling by with purses clutched tightly to their persons, hands stuffed into pockets, noses in their phones, or plugged into iPods. The mostly cloudy day cast shadows over their faces as they passed by the restaurant, unaware of the other people around them. My loafers stuck to the sticky linoleum under our table as I tapped them, every feeling I had felt after exiting the therapy session room rushing back to me; disbelief, intrigue, and elation.

"Let's wait until your psychological evaluation comes back. I think they'd call it insanity. You're probably going to go back like Abernathy," Staz said, continuing to chew his food.

"No, not like that. I've just never analyzed anyone like him before. I mean there's insane, and then there's him. With him it's like he's insane by choice, he's allowed himself to go insane and he loves it. It's like he knows so much more than everyone else because of it."

"Well, he is classified as a highly intellectual genius," Staz commented.

"He is," I pondered, brushing my eyebrow length caramel bangs out of my eyes. I kept the rest of my hair tied back as always to keep it out of the way. "But how much does he really know?" My chopsticks stirred my spicy beef Pho in the bowl. I took a sip of my unsweetened iced tea.

"That's the question isn't it?" Staz pointed his fork at me after swallowing, his eyes serious. "It's a miracle we have him locked him up. It's dangerous to have someone that smart out on the streets and using to wreck havoc and watch the world burn. But now that we have him...if only we could tap into that intellect of his."

I was more curious as to how he gained such intellect. The Joker seemed to have so much figured out. I wondered what it would be like to get into a philosophical brawl with him. I had never seen so much confidence in one's own nihilism as I did with him. I wanted to know why, and how he came to that personal philosophy.

"Arkham patients..." I began, trailing off. Staz stared at me, fork mid-air over some steamed broccoli. I leaned into the table, folding my hands in front of my lunch. "Which ones are allowed to have visitors?"

Staz was a tall, tan, and well-built, successful PhD student, only two years my senior. This made him a heart-throb in the psychology department as he was a teacher's aid to Professor Peabody's Social Psychology class for the undergrads. But behind his exterior was a man of pure ambition and intellect. And more importantly, logic. So when Staz Blakely stared at me after what I had just said, I knew that what he was about to say could only be sensible.

"Emily...the students who passed don't even want to think about the final, and then there's you who has actually considered going back to visit him? You must be out of your damned mind."

I rolled my eyes.

"There's nothing wrong with intellectual curiosity. Besides, I can't imagine he gets any visitors," I replied as my heartstrings thrummed in my chest. It hit me then what I had said. It was sad thinking about it. Being alone somewhere like that and not seeing a friendly face every now and then.

"Yeah, for a reason," Staz accentuated. "He's the most dangerous psychopath in America. I don't even think they'd allow you to visit him even if you were family. You'd have to be his therapist, a lawyer, or a fed in order to get in to see him."

There was a short, knowing silence that followed. A small smile crept onto my face and I swirled my chopsticks through my Pho again, this time taking hold of some rice noodles. Staz shook his head and pointed his fork at me again.

"I know what you're thinking, and it's ridiculous. There's no way, Emily. Please drop this. I understand that he has the best mind for a psychologist to pick, but there's no way you'd be cleared for something like that. His therapists need to be extremely qualified and you _just_ got certified. You should be focusing on getting low-key patients, and thinking about what your PhD thesis is going to be."

"I _am_ working on my PhD thesis." I smiled sweetly. He continued to stare at me only through hooded, unappealing eyes, but decided to carry on with eating his steamed broccoli.

"I'm sure I'll find out what it is soon enough," he drawled.

I continued to smile as I thought about the mounting pile of library books, textbooks opened to specific chapters on psychopathy and personality disorders.

I did have a topic for my PhD thesis. The challenge now was to get it approved.

* * *

Hidden in a back corner of Lowry Building on the third floor was Dr. Carlson's office. It was barely noticeable if you weren't actively looking for it. He had told me once that he preferred it to be that way. It was isolated and quiet back there so he could work and read in peace when he was in between teaching classes.

Just down the hall from Dr. Carlson's office, I passed by a group of female undergrads coming out of Dr. Peabody's Social Psychology class, mascara clumped together, whispering to themselves and clutching their textbooks tightly to their chests. I peeked inside the classroom, Dr. Peabody was on her laptop at the table set up at the front of the class, and Staz was wiping off the white board. Several students lingered inside, stuff already gathered but engulfed in a deep discussion that wasn't likely to end soon. I caught Staz's eye and waved.

He threw the eraser onto the table beside Dr. Peabody, who gave it a lackadaisical glance before returning her attention to her laptop, as Staz jogged to the doorway.

"About to meet with Dr. Carlson to talk about my PhD thesis," I explained, squaring my shoulders and clicking my heels together like a soldier being called to attention.

Staz placed a disappointed hand to his chest. "Really? I thought you were here to visit me."

I snorted and nudged his shoulder.

"In your dreams, Beach Boy," I replied.

He had rolled up the sleeves of his baby blue button down shirt, exposing his toned forearms. Dr. Peabody couldn't have liked that. I cast a glance over Staz's shoulder at the uptight middle aged woman sitting at the table. She was the epitome of a stern business woman. Every suit she owned was pressed and lint-less, and I never once saw a hair out of place from her bun at the nape of her neck. I wondered if she ever dressed casually. The first year of my graduate studies I could swear she slept in her dress suits. She was the hardest grader I had ever encountered and getting on her good side comprised of consistent hard work, and no stupid questions. Staz and I were lucky enough to have gotten on her good side, though it never felt like it. She was stern and expectant to everyone and she required uncompromising professionalism from all of her students, and even more so from her fellow colleagues.

I shifted the notebook under my arm when I realized she was studying us from underneath her thin eyebrows knitted together in disapproval and something else I was weary of. Caution and interest. I realized I was dressed too casual for her tastes to be meeting with a professor over something so important. I suddenly felt like I was being judged for wearing my thrift-shop bought shin-length floral skirt and white V-neck t-shirt tucked into it. But that was what I liked about Dr. Carlson, he was nonchalant in his approach to learning. He didn't think it was a job, but a passion. He didn't believe you needed to be uncomfortable in order to pursue your passion.

"Well, I better not keep him waiting," I said, wanting to escape from Dr. Peabody's heavy gaze.

"Hey, let's get coffee later and you can tell me about it. Maybe I'll be able to help you get started," Staz suggested.

"Sure. Starbucks at 8?" I recommended. He paused for a second to stare at the ceiling in deep thought before he replied.

Finally dropping his head into a nod, he said, "Sometimes I think you know my schedule better than I do. Sounds good!"

I escaped down the hall before Dr. Peabody's eyes burned holes into my skin. At Dr. Carlson's office, I rapped on the polished oak door three times.

"Come in, come in!" The deep voice called from inside.

I peeked my head inside his office after opening the door. It still amazed me how a hidden office in the corner of a building could still be so large and spacious. This space also doubled as his own therapy room since he still saw and treated patients when he wasn't teaching. I often never saw him outside of this building, and I was pretty sure he slept on the couch in here sometimes. Probably one of the reasons why he got that divorce. The walls were lined with bookshelves overstuffed with thick books, all intellectual reads regarding every psychological and philosophical idea that possibly existed. Some of them, I even noticed, were library books that he had never bothered returning, and he probably just paid the library back for the whole book just to keep it. I often considered doing that myself once or twice when I wrote papers and I had grown attached to one of my sources that the overdue fees started racking up on my account.

Dr. Carlson sat at his desk, immersed in a file brimming with paper-clipped pages stained with drops of coffee. He glanced at me twice before realizing it was my face peeking into his room.

"Ah, Woodward! Come in! Take a seat," Dr. Carlson beamed at me while closing the file. He stuffed it between two of his assigned textbooks for his undergrad classes, the same two textbooks I kept on my own personal shelves.

I removed my notebook and colorful patchwork purse as I sat in the torn upholstered chair facing him.

"It's good to see you, Woodward," Dr. Carlson greeted me.

"You too, sir," I replied with a smile.

He had gotten a new haircut during the three weeks since I last saw him. It was at least two inches shorter so life must have been treating him well.

"So, your PhD thesis. That is what we are here to talk about," Dr. Carlson began. I nodded, clutching my notebook.

"Yes, sir," I continued eagerly. "I've been thinking about it a lot and-"

"You know, you did an exceptional job during your final," Dr. Carlson interrupted me. My voice got caught in my throat.

"Uh, oh, thank you, sir," I chuckled.

"You surprised everyone watching you, you know. That was the most interesting final exam we've ever had. Not many Masters students make any progress with the Joker. But you...something clicked in there, didn't it?" Dr. Carlson continued.

I felt my face start to warm with the memory of being in there and getting the Joker to open up some. I hid my smile by looking down at my notebook in my lap. "Yes, I suppose something did, sir."

"That's why I think you have the makings of a fine therapist, Woodward. You figure out a way to connect with them. I have been saying that to the faculty since you came to Gotham, and what you pulled during your final was enough to convince them," Dr. Carlson stated.

"Thank you," I replied, beaming. I closed my notebook, excited to talk about my final exam again. The thesis could wait if it meant I could talk about the Joker again.

"You know, I've never seen the Joker take to someone like he did to you. Given, he doesn't really take to anyone, not really. But he must have seen something in you too. And that is incredible indeed," Dr. Carlson pressed on.

"Well, with someone like him where he thinks it's all a game and you're just a toy, you have to be the one to show him that you're not going to play along," I stated.

"Yes, well, take it from someone who has tried doing that, it's not easy to gain his attention once you do. He knows how to get under people's skin," Dr. Carlson said.

"That's what he wants. If he can get into your head or under your skin, you're simply laying along in his game and he can continue to manipulate you," I replied.

"Exactly," Dr. Carlson confirmed.

Part of me wondered if we experienced the same final. While I was in there with the Joker, I was following along with the things that he said, but I was allowing him to manipulate me so I could get deeper. But did Dr. Carlson think that? Did he see what I did in there and how I did it?

After a tense silence he slapped his hands on the table. "Now let's get to that PhD thesis, shall we?" He stood from his desk and walked around to the front of it and sat on the corner with his arms crossed. "What do you have so far?"

"Well, sir, not to change the subject back to him, but I swear it's related, I wanted to say that that final has gotten me thinking a lot," I replied.

Dr. Carlson stared at me with a focused, intense face. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"Yes," Dr. Carlson finally said. "He's an interesting specimen for psychological study."

I nodded. "He certainly is! And like you said, something clicked in there. I felt that I was making...progress, if you could call it that. If I had had more time for an actual session, and, well, less time for those introductions, I think I could have actually gotten somewhere with him."

Dr. Carlson blinked. He removed his glasses and wiped a slow, large hand over his face. "What exactly is it that you are saying, Woodward?"

I squared my shoulders. "I'm saying, Doctor, that I'm interested in psychopathy as the subject for my PhD thesis."

There was another strong silence where our eyes were locked with each others, Dr. Carlson, at last, threw his arms up in the air. "Sure! That's a good start!"

With a sigh of relief, I brought my lips into a smile. "I'm interested in psychopathy with added layers of mental illness. Dangerous psychopathy is ultimately going to be my main thesis, and what other mental illnesses can correlate into what makes certain psychopaths dangerous."

Dr. Carlson pointed his thick-rimmed square glasses at me. "That is a strong thesis. I say go with that."

I beamed, my smile growing. "Wonderful! I'm so excited to start it!" That lump came back to my throat. "Um, Dr. Carlson...Can I ask a question?"

"Anything, Woodward, anything," Dr. Carlson replied.

"Um...Who is the Joker's current therapist?" I knit my eyebrows together and folded my hands on top of my notebook.

Dr. Carlson stared at me again. "Well...you see, Woodward. Currently the Psychology Department and I are his collective therapists. We are all hired by Arkham Asylum to be his therapists because the individual therapists hired by Arkham...well, none of them want to treat him. I'm sure you can imagine why." Dr. Carlson raised a knowing eyebrow at me. He tossed his glasses on top of the psychology textbooks where he had stuffed the overflowing file between when I had walked in. "Now, the Psychology Department and I...we just can't keep up with it anymore. We have lives you know, these jobs, papers to grade, and other patients. Yes, Dr. Peabody has a life believe it or not, I saw that look in your eyes."

"So, what you're saying, Dr. Carlson, is that...the Joker currently doesn't have a therapist," I concluded.

"We've been lightening up his visits with our Psychology Department, yes," Dr. Carlson confirmed.

 _Is that why you send Masters students in there?_

I shook my head. "Sir...what would I have to do to become the Joker's primary therapist?"

I bit my lip as soon as I said it. The words had just slipped out. I should have waited to get to it, I was just too eager to find out. And I could tell by the look on Dr. Carlson's face that I was about to receive a Staz-like response only with the wise, professional flourish of Dr. Carlson's inner thoughts.

"Woodward, I understand the fascination, I really do, and you did an exemplary job during your final, but there's no way I would allow you to go back in there. I'm not saying this just as a professor and mentor, but as a friend."

"But, sir," I protested, "he is the perfect person to study for my thesis. There is so much I can learn from treating him." My cheeks suddenly felt warm. "I believe that I could truly get through to him, and if I could treat him then maybe somehow I could cure him."

Dr. Carlson sighed. "Woodward...a specimen like that...he doesn't want to be cured. And you know it too. It's not that I don't think you can do it, and I agree, he is a perfect source, but Arkham's system is too complicated to get hired into, and to be his personal therapist, well...that's even harder."

I clenched my jaw. I opened my mouth to speak, but before words came out Dr. Carlson said: "And the Joker is not allowed any visitors."

I sighed. Dr. Carlson reached out a hand and placed it on my shoulder. "I understand, Woodward. I do. It's just not going to work. Now, currently, we are trying to find a permanent therapist for the Joker, but it's been a challenge lately. For the past two weeks he has been difficult to work with and treat. But when we do find one...uhhhh, maybe I can pull a few strings to get them to talk to you about him."

It was better than nothing, but it wasn't what I wanted. It would be less credible for my paper than if they were my own experiences. I took in a breath before saying, "Thank you, Dr. Carlson. I understand."

I wished I had a better argument to fight back with, but I didn't like fighting or any form of confrontation with my superiors, especially if they were the ticket between me and completing my PhD thesis. I twisted and wrung my hands in my lap for a second before looking back up at my professor.

The phone rang.

"Ah, give me one second," Dr. Carlson said, holding up a finger and hopping off his desk to reach his phone. "Dr. Carlson. Ah, yes, how are you?"

The static muttering on the other end of the phone was difficult to make out, and I had to remind myself that it was rude to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help it when I heard the word 'developments' being said.

I toyed with the pages of my notebook between my fingers, a habit my friends and family often called 'page-petting', as I tried to listen for more. Anything to get my mind off of the disappointment I felt.

"Well, I'm all ears," Dr. Carlson said. There was a pause. More mumbling on the other end of the phone. "He has!" He sounded surprised, as if he wasn't expecting to hear anything of the sort over the phone, whatever they were talking about. "Well, who?" The voice on the other end gave a short, abrupt answer. The color in Dr. Carlson's face drained and his jaw clenched. His eyes slowly rolled to look at me. And he kept them there, locked with mine. My stomach churned.

"Err...yes, well...I'll get the department together for a meeting as soon as possible and we'll...get in contact with her. We'll see what can be done," Dr. Carlson finally said, his voice sounding tight in his throat. He broke eye contact. "Yes. You too. Bye."

He pressed his finger down on the receiver to end the call and slowly replaced it with the phone. He cleared his throat and folded his hands on his desk. He kept his gaze down, almost as if he couldn't bring himself to look at me.

"Erm...that was Allen Push from Arkham Asylum," Dr. Carlson stated.

"Oh," I replied. Coincidence. A weird one.

"He says there have been some interesting new developments with the Joker," he continued. I jerked in my seat, sitting up straighter, folding my ankles together underneath the chair. "The, uh, the therapists that we've been sending him the past two weeks haven't been getting on with him well, as I told you." He began to take vague interest in a small coffee stain molded on his desk and started to peel at it with his thumbnail. "Allen Push says he's been actually asking for a particular therapist these past couple of days. More like screaming, as he put it."

I wasn't sure if my brow could furrow anymore than it already was. Was the Joker allowed to ask for specific therapists? "Who, Dr. Carlson?"

His eyes fluttered up to mine, like it was difficult to do. He inhaled deeply. "You."

* * *

 **And there it is! I hope you guys enjoyed it, I know it was a lot of exposition, but there were some important things I needed to introduce for the story.**

 **I also wanted to do a reader shout-out: LouisianaSiren96 thank you so much for your lovely review! And thank you to everyone who has left me a review! They are very much appreciated and they all make me so happy to read them!**

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	7. Chapter 6: Jean

**Hi everyone! Thank you to everyone who is reading so far! And thank you to all of the kind and lovely reviews! This one is a little longer than the average short chapters I've been posting! Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Where's Jean? I thought I had left her in our bedroom, but she wasn't there when I came back from the bathroom. When I descended the stairs, the pink frilly lace of my dress brushing on my knobby 7 year old knees, I saw a blue ruffle of fabric slip into Papa's office. I jumped off the last step and raced towards the large oak doors separating the rest of the house from Papa's cove of solitude and learning. I peeked around the door and spied a mess of caramel hair hiding behind the leather chair in the corner._

 _Papa was at work, which meant his office, lines from wall to wall and from ceiling to floor with bookshelves stuffed with books of every kind was free to explore. The clock on his desk read 3:09, which meant we had 2 hours until Papa came home from teaching his seminars at the university._

 _I knew that when he came home and found us in his office, he would chase us out onto the couch of the living room and tackle us with tickles. We weren't really allowed to be in Papa's office, but it was Jean's favorite place to run off to when she got distracted._

 _I climbed onto the leather chair and peeked over the back of it, finding my twin crouched in the corner with a thick paperback book in her hands. The greasy, tangled mess of her hair covered her face buried in the yellowing pages._

" _Whatcha reading?" I asked. She looked up at me with her sweet gray eyes._

" _Little Women," Jean muttered. She blinked several times. The book was large and clearly out of our third grade reading level. But where she couldn't make ends meet in other subjects at school, Jean excelled in reading comprehension and writing._

 _Jean sniffed loudly and pounded her temple with the heel of her hand. "Noooo..."_

" _Are they talking to you again?" I asked. I crawled off the chair and scooted around it into the corner with Jean._

" _Yeah," Jean mumbled._

 _I put an arm around her shoulder and she nuzzled her head into the crook of my neck. "What are they saying this time?"_

 _Her body tensed. "I don't know, they're all jumbled together."_

 _A silence passed between us. "Mommy's worried that you don't have any friends at school."_

" _I don't need friends as long as I have you," Jean huffed._

" _But having friends is nice! They play with you and tell you secrets," I encouraged her._

" _Yeah, having friends is nice for you because you have some. Everyone likes you. That's why you get chosen for all the lead parts in the class plays," Jean mumbled, it would have been incomprehensible to other ears, but since she was my other half I could always tell what she was saying._

" _Nuh-uh," I giggled. "I get chosen because I'm an **awc-tress**." I said it like I weighed 20 times more than I did and was a diva on the biggest stage in the world._

 _Jean giggled, tapping her little feet on the hard-wood floors of Papa's office. I nudged her with my elbow._

" _You'll see, everything will be okay," I said._

* * *

 _Present_

I writhed my stiff shoulders and squeezed my eyes. When I forced the lids open I saw only blurs of cream and sheer gold. My head rolled from side to side, my temples hitting the cool soft leather. Where was I?

There was a low, deep screaming from below where I laid. My eyesight began to clear slowly. My arm dropped from beside me and it hit soft carpeting. The space was small but when I lifted my head, with great strain and difficulty, I saw that it was long, like a tunnel or a tube. I felt my weight shift towards the side, rolling me softly against cream leather backing of the long seating that lined the walls of this tube. Was I only a plane? No, it was too nice, too compressed. A jet?

I could see things a little more clearly, but without my glasses I knew I wouldn't be able to make everything out 100%. Low muffled voices echoed and my heart skipped a beat, pieces of my memory coming back to me. I still couldn't move most of my body, it felt so heavy and like it was made of cinder blocks and Jell-O. Panic swirled in my chest and my breaths came out broken and frail. Who knew what he would do to me once we got to where we were going. There wasn't much I could now. I mean, what can you do when you've been drugged and stuffed on a jet?

 _I can at least fight a little. Show him I'm not going to back down._

I let out a mangled moan as I tried lifting my other arm to grab hold of something. I blinked hard, forcing my senses to focus as best they could. Things became clearer, the lights overheard began to hurt my eyes, the voices became clearer and I could start making out words, and I could smell the fresh leather seats and the sugary tart scent of Bacardi rum.

 _Just a little more._

I finally thrust myself from the seat to the plush carpet with an, "Oof!"

I gasped for air as I landed on my stomach, my arm blocking my fall but gutting into my chest.

 _Come on..._

"Well, well, well..." The voice made my heart stop and the rumbling noise of the jet disappear into a screeching whistle in my head.

I felt a boot graze my thigh and nudge me roughly until I rolled onto my back. Looking up I saw his tall, pale, lithe figure standing over me, his long purple, leather coat trailing down his body like a snake-skinned cape. The blur of his venomous bright green hair and the blood-red grin on his face screamed _danger_ in my mind. My mind began to blur again.

 _No, not now._

In a flash of purple he had me pinned under him as he straddled my hips, his knees pressed against my waist. My heart was pounding like funeral drums. _Oh God...what is he going to do? He's on me._

He ran a hand through his combed-back hair with an irritated sigh. "Ya know, Babydoll, you've become extremely good at comin' up with new ways to surprise me." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick tube. "You see, this," he continued as I realized it was a syringe full of clear liquid, "can knock out a horse for over 24 hours, but youuu..." He punched the leather seat I had been laying on with a quick-as-lightning force that made me flinch my head to look away. "You constantly prove to me that you're stronger than ya look." That deranged smile returned to his lips. He brought his face down to mine, so close I could feel his breath on my face.

I tried wriggling underneath him, but my arms still wouldn't lift, and my feet only flopped together.

" _Ha ha ha ha_...Oooh, can't move can ya?"

My vision blurred again like a pulse and my brain relaxed as though it was going to put me back under. _NO!_

"Get...off..." I whimpered through clenched teeth.

His eyes darkened. "Still gonna fight, huh?" His voice was a snarl so close to my face, his lips were only inches away from my skin and I strained my neck to keep as far away from his as I could.

He rose back up to his sitting position, his body pressing deeper onto mine. "Well," he began. With his free hand he unbuttoned my peacoat to reveal my torso to him. The bony hand slowly moved across the Peter Pan collar of my cream blouse, his fingertips brushing the bare skin of my neck until they came up around it, holding it down on the carpeted floor. He kept his hand firm as though he could start choking me at any second. The look in his eyes made him look like a starved tiger, hungry and desiring flesh.

"Please...don't..." I begged.

" _Ha ha ha_ , oh, I do love it when you beg, Babydoll," he purred, his thumb brushing against my bare neck. He slowly dragged his hand down to splay it across my collar bone. "It almost makes me wanna keep ya like this so I can hear you beg some more. But," he cocked his head to the side, his tone now mocking, "Daddy has some business he needs to take care of and I can't have ya lyin' around causin' trouble. So I think it's time for a stronger dose. G'night, Babydoll."

A sharp prick came down into my collar bone and I felt my eyes roll back into my head and my body go limp once more, the last thing I saw being his wide, pleasured smile.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! I hope you all are enjoying it so far! It seems we have introduced a new and mysterious character 0o0 !**

 **It's gonna be about a week until I get the next chapter up. The next chapter is, again, going to be a long one and I want to have a beta go over it, I also want to sit down and make sure I have the outline all squared away and I know what's going to be happening in the next 5-10 or so chapters. So sit tight! I promise I won't leave you all hanging.**

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	8. Chapter 7: Freedom

**Hi everyone! Here is the new chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Past_

One week following my meeting with Dr. Carlson, I strolled into Arkham Asylum with my head held high and a beaming smile on my face, all of my filled out paperwork and certifications under my arm organized into a folder. In the main office I was so giddy with academic excitement that I fiddled with the hem of my marigold cardigan.

I handed the receptionist, a long-necked, brunette young woman with a name-tag that read Bianca, my paperwork and personal items aside from my small patient file I kept from the final, my notebook and pen, and my book. Even though she looked fresh out of her undergraduate years, she already had the bags under eyes from lack of sleep and exhaustion from the overload of work and stress of her job. A blood curdling scream followed by wails and cries echoed through the halls and into the main office. As the girl sorted through my paperwork, she lifted a horrified gaze towards the open office door, visible goosebumps forming on her tan skin. I could tell from her shaking that she probably regretted her decision to take the job here. Seeing her so obviously frightened made me feel guilty for strolling in there like I was just crowned Miss America.

I racked my brain for something kind to say when she abruptly handed me my ID badge, my face in the photo smiling with eternal pride, and a white uniform lab coat.

"Oh, uh, thanks," I muttered. I spied her gold locket necklace poking out of the collar of her white uniform shirt. "I like your locket. It's pretty."

Bianca's shaking seemed to stop and her eyes softened. "Thanks, it was my grandmother's." Her hand snaked up to clutch it and a smile formed on her plump glossed lips. It seemed to calm her and I could almost see fond memories flashing in her brown eyes.

I grinned and rested my arms on the tall counter of the desk she sat behind. "It's kind of unnerving, huh, working here?"

Her shoulders tensed and reached up to scratch her temple, still clutching the locket in her other hand. "Yeah, it sure is."

"First big girl job?" I asked.

She nodded, smirking. "After applying to over 100 jobs after graduating in May, this was the only offer. I've only been here for two weeks and I already feel like I've been here for 5 months." I nodded in understanding. The job market for my generation was horrific.

"In all technicality, it's my first too. My first patient. Really excited but still kind of nervous," I admitted. She seemed to be easing up.

"Who is it? Or are you not allowed to say?" She asked, pulling back once she realized her question.

"Well, you work here so it should be fine. I'm treating the Joker," I said.

All color drained from her face. "Oh..."

"I know," I shrugged. "Now you can understand why I'm a little nervous."

"A little," she chuckled nervously, fiddling with her locket. "I'd be out of my mind. I probably wouldn't have shown up today."

I shrugged again. "Someone's got to do it, right? Besides, what else would I write my thesis paper on?"

She chortled. "Well...if you're his therapist, I guess I'll be seeing you around for a little bit."

"I guess so," I replied. I held out my hand to her. "I'm Emily."

She shook it with a grin. "Bianca."

"I guess I'll be seeing you, Bianca," I said, pulling on the white lab coat and clipping my ID badge to the collar. "Oh, and don't worry about this job. Just keep working at it and it'll get better."

She smiled and nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

I gathered the rest of my things into my arms and sat down in a waiting chair. I had to wait until Dr. Carlson got there so we could discuss some specifics before the therapy session at 11:30. I remembered the week before, when I had my meeting with him.

After am almost immediate meeting with the faculty of the Psychology Department, they finally came to the consensus that they will work with Arkham Asylum to get me in there as the Joker's primary therapist. I had waited outside the conference room, tapping my feet on the ground so fast that I probably wore out the soles of my shoes and left a dent in the tile floors. I had nearly chewed my lips raw by the time they all came out.

My excitement lasted to when I met up with Staz later at Starbucks, bursting through the doors, running up to him and almost making him drop our drinks. He was at a loss for words, he hardly said anything that night and I thought I detected resentment from him. But I was so lost in the great news that I almost completely ignored it. Almost. He warmed up eventually to it, but I could see that he was still worried.

The morning of my official first day, I woke up to a text from him:

 _Good luck._

I wished he had left me a voicemail, a comforting voice to ease the nervousness would have helped, but he found out a while ago that calling while I was sleeping wasn't a good idea since I was such a light sleeper. There was some issue with his main source for a paper several years ago, and he called to rant to someone, but he didn't know I had a big test in Dr. Peabody's class early the following morning, and I couldn't get back to sleep. I was lucky to have gotten a B+ on the test, especially since I almost arrived late.

I turned my head just as a small group of familiar people walk into the main office. I stood from my chair to greet Dr. Carlson, Dr. Peabody, and Dr. Byrd, the short, stout professor almost as tall as me who taught most of the childhood psychology classes, along with another woman I didn't recognize.

" _Doctor Woodward_ ," Dr. Carlson emphasized. A grin formed on my lips. It felt good to hear an official title attached to my name. I shook hands with my professors and then when I turned to the other woman, Dr. Carlson spoke:

"Dr. Woodward, this is Amanda Waller, an intelligence officer who works for the United States government."

My eyes widened at the mention of her occupation. Why was she here? I shook her hand with a firm grip.

"Dr. Woodward, it's good to meet you. Your professors have expressed that you are very gifted," she said, her voice low but cautious.

"It's good to meet you too," I replied.

"We have some things to discuss with you before you go into your therapy session," Waller proceeded. I glanced at the clock on the receptionist's desk, it read 11:10, 20 minutes until my session. I didn't want to be late again.

"Of course," I replied, clutching the hem of my cardigan.

"We have a private meeting room set aside for us to all speak. Don't worry, you'll be on time to your session," Waller assured me.

I cleared my throat and forced a smile. "A-alright. Well...lead the way."

We assembled in the meeting room down a narrow hall in the main office. A white board hung at the head of the rectangular table where Amanda Waller sat, my professors on her right, and I alone on her left. We sat in silence for a few moments while they all quickly silence or turned off their phones and I fiddled with the pages of the book I brought. Amanda Waller folded her hands on the table and gazed at me with dark brown eyes that made me feel like she had no time for games, or to be unimpressed.

"As I'm sure you know by now, Dr. Woodward, your new patient is a high-profile criminal. He is one of the most dangerous psychopaths of America and we have him right where we want him: locked up for good." Waller didn't seem to be wasting any time, which I was thankful for, but curious to find out where she was going with this. Dr. Carlson reached into his coat and pulled out a file, just a little thicker than mine and slid it across the table top to me. Inside was a more in-depth profile of the Joker. Before I could dig into the new information presented to me, Waller continued:

"Now, criminal masterminds like the Joker obviously have the attention of the US Government and National Security. So I'm sure you understand the importance of your job."

I nodded my head in response.

"Just know," Dr. Carlson stated, "that if you need any help at all, we are here for you," referring to him and my other professors.

I replied again with a nod. "Thank you. Although...I am somewhat confused as to why you needed to be here to tell me, as you said, something that I already know."

All attention turned to Amanda Waller whose professional, unimpressed demeanor hadn't fallen. "Let's just say that I am in charge of the Joker's sentence here. And given that you are his new therapist, I wanted to meet you so that I knew certain things were understood. Anything concerning the Joker, is also my concern. It's all a matter of National Security as I am sure you can understand."

I felt my stomach twist in a sudden bout of alarm. Everything told me to remain calm, but my brain kept sending out warning signals to be cautious. I breathed out steadily, telling myself that this was the government in question.

"I understand," I replied.

Waller stood from her seat, tugging on her blood red blazer. I suddenly felt very intimidated. "Good." We all stood from our seats, but before I could begin heading to the door Waller stopped me with a hand on my elbow. "As I understand it, the Joker asked for you personally. Is that correct?"

"Yes, it is," I clarified.

Her eyes bore into me. "Interesting. Well, you must have seriously caught his attention if he specifically wanted a Masters student after only one hour with her."

I couldn't help the blush that crept to my cheeks. I couldn't even exactly place why I was blushing.

"Now," Waller said, "I believe you have a therapy session to get to. Allen Push is here to escort you."

"We're putting you in a different therapy room this time," Allen Push said as we walked down the hall of the top floor. I jogged to keep up with his long stride. "He has been rather...good this past week so we have taken him out of his restraints for the time being. I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable."

I almost stopped in my tracks when I heard what he had said. The statement was certainly unnerving and I wondered what he meant by his usage of the word 'good'. He had said it like he didn't have a more accurate word to say.

"There will be guards at the door in case anything goes wrong, so don't worry."

I was still worried.

He showed me to the new therapy room, two guards, more like army men, stood at the sides, heavily armed.

 _What have I gotten myself into?_ This must have been how Bianca down at the receptionist's desk felt.

"When your hour is up the guards will open the door for you. This is normal procedure for the patient," Push said. "Once you are done you may sign out at the front and leave.

My voice couldn't conjure any words so I gave him a curt nod. He stood behind me as the guards opened the door.

* * *

I peeked through the crack in the door as soon as I opened it. The Joker sat in a similar position as he had the first time I saw him, at one end of a small table, only this time, his arms rested on his lap limply like he had never used them before. I knew that wasn't true.

"Long time, no see, Dr. Woodward," his voice echoed through the small, mostly empty, room. Against the window I saw a chaise longue underneath the barred window, a swiveling office chair across from it. It was so typical I felt like I had walked onto a movie set for a psychiatrist's office.

I swallowed and stepped through the crack I made in the door. "It's good to see you. How have you been?" I pushed the door closed with my back, clutching my things tighter to my body.

He rolled his head over to gaze at me through vein rimmed eyes. "You don't want to start all of this over do ya? You made such wonderful progress the last time I had the _pleasure_ of your company." His voice dripped with an ironic charm that crept up my spine. It just didn't seem right for him to sound that charming.

I took my seat across from him at the table, my eyes glued to his freed arms. There was a new sense of calmness to his demeanor, like he felt more relaxed now that a layer of confinement was removed.

"What book did you bring today?" He asked. I beamed, organizing my things on the table until I came to my ratty, brick-sized mass market paperback novel. I held it towards him.

"I brought _Outlander_ by Diana Gabaldon," I replied, my grin widening. He reached up, and I jumped an inch in my seat without warning.

He smiled wide, amused by my startle. "Not used to seeing these, are ya?" He wriggled his fingers in the air like they were crawling spider legs. He brought his hand to his chest. "I _promise_ I won't use them to hurt you. I've been on my best behavior lately."

I chuckled, my heart slowing down in my chest, but I refused to let my guard down completely. "So I've heard." I handed him the book and he fanned through the pages.

"And what is so appealing about this book?" He asked.

"The main character is very strong and independent and resourceful, the story is detailed and very political in an historical sense, with the perfect splash of romance as well," I explained, my heart unintentionally opening up. "It's been my obsessive read lately."

"I can imagine so." He slid my book across the table to me. His eyes grew solid, the smile still on his lips. "You seem like the romantic type."

I suddenly felt like a childish little girl. My cheeks grew warm, and I hid them by looking down at the table and sliding my book over to the corner.

"When it's appropriate in a novel," I replied, regaining a professional air. I clicked my pen and opened his patient file.

"So, what are we gonna talk about today?" Joker asked, sounding mockingly interested.

"I was hoping you would tell me," I suggested.

"Come now, Doctor, you know very well that ain't gonna work," he teased.

"Well, it was worth a shot," I joked primly, my eyes to the ceiling in fake despair.

" _Ha ha ha ha..._ "

I couldn't help but chuckle as well. "Well...you asked for me specifically to be your therapist, so there must have been something you wanted to talk about."

"That or if I was going to be forced to see someone then I would rather it be someone worth seeing," he replied dramatically.

It was almost as if the blush from earlier hadn't even left my face because now it grew warmer. I cleared my throat and brushed aside my bangs with the butt of my pen. "M-maybe we could start off with where we left off last time. You were telling me about your sort of philosophy, your purpose-"

"Oohhh..." He stood from his chair suddenly my back slammed against that back of my own chair in surprise. He raised his arms and held them out like he was expecting something, like an applause. "But don't you want to work your way up to it, Doctor? Get all of the juicy stuff that you can psychoanalyze into oblivion that fit so perfectly with all of the shit that you have written down in that bursting folder of yours?" He moved slowly around the table to me. He brushed back some slick, stringy locks that had fallen over his forehead with a single swift swipe of his hand. My shoulders tightened as he made his way closer to me. The way he carried himself was mesmerizing. He was not only graceful, but regal, like the King of Gotham that he was. He had more control over his body and movements unlike anyone I had ever seen before.

It was at a moment like this when I wished I wasn't alone in a small room with the most dangerous psychopath in America while he was unrestrained.

"W-we can do that if you like," I tried to cover my stutter.

"Aww, come on, Doctor, where's that spark in your eyes that you had before?" He glided over across the floor behind me, placing his hands on the back of my chair. Even with him being so close to me, his fingers mere inches from my shoulders, I could feel static tension, like a positive and a negative magnet wanting to come together. "Don't tell me it was all a show, and that you ain't really cut out to be a therapist."

I clenched my teeth hard in my mouth. My eyebrow twitching, I gathered my notepad and pen and stood. My eyes met his when I turned to face him. I stood tall, my as body unyielding as my gaze.

"As much as I would love to talk about how unqualified I am in your eyes based on my behavior in my current situation, I would much rather get down to the dirty work." We must have been staring at each other for a solid two minutes, but it seemed to be a lifetime. A rush of heat rose from deep within my stomach to the middle of my chest. I both hated and loved the sensation. Hated it, because I didn't know what it was that I felt. And loved it, because it made me feel powerful in the face of a man who had more power than I could even begin the fathom. Standing there in front of him, my eyes locked with his, my brain felt like it was let free for a wild second; like I could do anything; great, unimaginable things, or dark and dangerous, unspeakable things. I could do it.

My heart-rate finally slowed. "Would you like to take this conversation over to the couch then?" I gestured sternly towards the mahogany piece of furniture.

His grin widened. He made a gesture of extending his arm out to the couch as we wore a perfect mask of mock charm. "After you."

I fought the smile that wanted to creep onto my face.

I took my seat in the office chair while he plopped onto the chaise longue, making himself comfortable. He sprawled himself out, his long legs stretching over the upholstery, his head resting on his hands like a pillow.

"May I ask you a question, Doctor?"

I wasn't expecting him to say something so soon. In fact, I expected to be the first to say anything. His comfort was almost unnerving.

"Of course, anything," I replied, flipping open my notebook.

"Who suffered in your life to make ya want to become a therapist?"

My voice got caught in my throat and I swore my heart stopped. My throat went dry.

How...?

My head raced with questions.

"E-excuse me?"

"It's not that hard to figure out why people do the things they do," Joker replied, his voice a drawl.

I bit my lip, my muscles going tense. He raised his hairless brows, making his face look more like a skull. "Oooohhh, I must be right then."

It took me a moment to find my words, and to force the wetness gathering behind my eyes back. "You're not wrong, no. You're very perceptive."

"Oh no...people are just predictable," Joker clarified, his eyes on me expectantly.

"Perhaps," I replied. "My twin sister, Jean"

His eyes sparkled. "There are two of ya. Even better."

"Were," my voice was small. "She died when we were 13. She suffered from schizophrenia and mild depression. It's rare in children, and it only got worse as we got older. My parents had her go to therapy and she took some medications. It was most likely an accident, but everything seemed to be worse that day...and she overdosed."

I kept my gaze down at my notebook.

I cleared my throat, along with it my thoughts.

"I realized then that I didn't want others to suffer as she did. And here I am," I finished.

He stared at me for a beat, his expression unreadable. "Now here's another question," he started, and he looked at me with farce caution, "and this is purely for your psychoanalytical thoughts as a scholar and has nothing to do with your dear sister; but does it ever occur to ya that others may not see it as suffering?"

I drew my brows together. "I-"

"Because maybe, rather than illnesses of the brain, they are assets," he proposed.

My head reeled. How could he think like that? _But maybe..._

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean. Mental illnesses don't allow for the brain to function properly, normally."

He rolled his eyes and let out a strangled sigh, removing his hands from the back of his head to run them over his face. " _Normal_ , Doctor. I thought you would be better than to follow the tails of society _spoon-feeding_ ya their ideal of normality."

"W-well, I understand there is no real such thing as normal, I mean...normal is just a setting on the dryer, but...there is a sense of...what your brain should and shouldn't be doing. It shouldn't effect your ability to perform everyday tasks or your ability to communicate effectively."

"So wouldya say what constitutes as normal brain functionality is what the majority of what the population inhibits?" Joker asked.

"Well, to a degree. I don't think it's right to assume that a majority of the population doesn't have some sort of disorder or mental illness. Besides, things accumulate over time, experiences shape people and whatnot. But, yes, I would say a majority of the population can go through their everyday lives without much hindrance."

"And are you part of this population who suffers from a disorder, then?" He asked. He sounded so serious.

I hesitated. I pondered whether I should respond. But I knew he would be able to tell if I was lying. He was uncommonly smart like that. "Y-yes. I have an anxiety disorder. It used to be quite serious until I saw a therapist through undergrad. It's not as prominent in my life anymore. I've been off of medications for awhile. It doesn't affect my life as much as it used to. I still see a therapist myself from time to time."

He grinned. "But ya wouldn't say you _suffer_ anymore, wouldya?"

I shook my head. "No, suffer isn't exactly the word I would use anymore. Though in the past it would be."

He began to circle his hands around, his thoughts forming with the graceful movements. "So the minority of the population are those that _suffer_ from _disorders_ and mental _inconveniences_. But perhaps we have misunderstood that maybe this minority is experiencing something different than the majority is."

"Well of course they are. They are clearly experiencing disturbances-"

He held a finger out at me. " _Ah_ , disturbances...or are they awakenings?"

My mouth snapped shut. "What do you mean by that?"

"Your sister, Jean, didya both play a lot as children together?" He asked. I took in a sharp breath. This again. The give and take. I would rather have him ask questions that weren't as personal as this.

"We did when she wasn't reading. We loved throwing tea parties," I replied. As soon as the words left my mouth I felt a sense of relief.

"Tea parties," he grinned. "Ya see, Doctor, those who you perceive to be _sick in the head_ do see things differently than the rest of the world. I think, that those of us who have these so-called _deficiencies_ actually have access to a certain part of the brain."

I suddenly realized that I had a pen and paper in front of me. I blinked and fumbled with my pen to start writing down his words.

"And what part of the brain is that?" I asked, my hand itching to continue recording.

"What were your tea parties like?"

I thought for a second, remembering back to my childhood where mine and Jean's bedroom glowed with the natural light through the window panes and lace and ruffles were strewn over the bedspreads of our twin beds. We had kept the room tidy, at my bequest, except for the our tea party corner set with a short round table, and four tiny rocking chairs that we fit perfectly in. The last two carried large stuffed animals and dolls. On the table that was covered with an over-sized lace doily, porcelain teacups of iced tea and saucers were strewn about, plates held mini cupcakes and pretzels and Oreos. I could still smell buttercream frosting.

"They were sweet," I replied, the word like sugar on my lips. "Jean and I would dress in our Sunday best and speak with gaudy English accents, like we were dining with the Queen, wearing our Mother's lipstick that we sneaked out of her bathroom. Our stuffed animals and baby dolls all had personalities. I took care of my baby doll like she was my best friend. Jean and I always gave her the rest of our tea in the end when we got sick of the sweetness. Holding tea parties with Jean and my baby doll were my favorite thing to do as a child. All the way up until the baby doll's head came off when we were 11. Too much strain on the poor thing."

"Tea parties with baby dolls, huh?" I couldn't read his voice again. He sounded like he was up to something, like he was thinking of something but didn't want to tell me.

"Yes, I loved her more than anything. Except Jean of course," I replied. I had been tapping my pen on my notebook as I reminisced. My heart felt fuzzy, but heavy at the same time, like I had a kiwi in my chest that was trying to pop out. When I looked back at the Joker he was staring at me, a smile on his face. Another shiver went up my spine without warning. I quickly looked away, back down at my notes, at the door, anywhere. Anywhere but at him right then.

"What part of the brain do they have access to?" I asked again. My stomach fluttered. In that moment I wanted to know what it felt like to be him. So sure of his dangerous philosophy of the brain. He believed that insanity is the potential of everyone. _If it's true, then so do I..._

" _Ha ha ha ha_..." He jerked himself up. I jumped in my chair. He flung his legs over the edge of the chaise longue and sat up straight, refusing to release my eyes from his inspiring, serious gaze.

Joker seemed to drink in the sight of me as he tilted his head to the side slowly, bringing his hands up like they lit up like light bulbs, his smile growing larger. "Oh, _Babydoll_...Freedom."

* * *

 **Hi everyone! I'm sorry this took so long to put out. The only excuse I have is just life. And then when I returned to it, Mr. J decided to just give me the middle finger for a little bit until I just kept writing him again. But at least it's a nice long chapter!**

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	9. Chapter 8: Trust

**Hi all! Thank you all for reading! I had expected to post this last night, but, you know, life. It's another short chapter, but I can say for now that this is going to be the last short chapter for a while! Yay! Long chapters from here until further notice! I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

I felt like I was flying.

Until my body jerked at sudden impact. I bounced a couple of times, my face squished by soft cotton.

Everything was more blurry than it had been before. Voices were distorted to the point of nonrecognition, and I couldn't see anything but dark blurs. My tongue was heavy in my mouth and I couldn't feel my face, my whole body had reached a sense of numbness. Rather than feeling like I weighed as much as a ton bricks, it felt like I didn't have a body at all. I was just a decapitated head resting on some unidentified soft object.

A rush of deja vu fell over me. Had I been here before? I swore I had experienced all of this at some point.

I had. A flash of a memory flew through my mind like a swooping bird; a splash of red on a pale, skulking face, both handsome and terrifying, and a syringe...

I had been drugged again.

A heard my pulse in my ears, drowning out the voices even more. I knew they didn't think I could hear them, that I was out cold at least for another day. I tried to clear my mind as much as I possibly could to hear any part of their conversation that I could.

"Where...want...put this?" I could make out one deep voice through my pounding pulse.

"Any...I don't...care!" A raspy voice barked. I was sure if my heart could it would have skipped a beat at hearing the voice. He had brought me someplace that he intended to stay for at least the night. It gave me no clue as to how long I had been out so far.

I wanted to move so desperately. But I couldn't. Even the thought of wriggling my nose exhausted me. I hated myself for being so weak in this moment, but reminded myself that I had been drugged. There was nothing I could do. But still...

Weight on the bed shifted, I let my eyes drift shut, not wanting them to know that I was awake yet. I didn't want to risk being given another dose. The air around me shifted, like there was a force around me. A breath of hot air warmed my cheek.

"Sleep tight, Babydoll," a voice purred. It was followed by a chuckle. It faded away but it was low and rhythmic enough to put me straight back under. I didn't want to, but the temptation of it was too sweet.

* * *

 _A tea party with teddy-bears, stuffed unicorns, and our large porcelain doll, Jessie, was taking place. The little glass plates had been stocked with Mommy's secret stash of Hershey's Kisses, and cookies and potato chips raided secretly from the pantry. Daddy would get so mad if he found out._

 _Jean sat at one of the small plastic chairs, a feathery pink boa wrapped around her neck. She pulled out a small black tube from her skirt pocket. I gasped and giggled at the sight of the forbidden object in her hands. She popped off the top of it and twisted it, bright rouge twirling out. Mommy would ground us for a week if she knew we were playing with her favorite red lipstick. But it was for the tea party. We needed it. Today we were ladies in a cafe in the heart of Paris, the Eiffel Tower just in the background. Ladies in Paris always wore red lipstick._

 _Jean smeared it onto her lips with dainty fingers, and then turned to Jessie, the porcelain doll, next to her._

" _She would look so lovely with lipstick on!" I sighed._

" _She should be smiling," Jean said. "We're in Paris, every lady is happy to be in Paris."_

 _Carefully, like she was painting a portrait, Jean drew the color over the doll's pale, perfect lips and continued past the corners until a long bloody smile ran into the dimple in her glass cheeks._

" _Beautiful," I said._

" _Ha ha ha..." Jean chuckled._

* * *

For a split second my eyes flickered open, finding nothing but an empty, pitch black room, and then they shut once more. I couldn't distinguish in my clouded mind if what just played in my mind was simply just a dream or a memory. Or both. I was suddenly worried. If I couldn't trust my mind, what could I trust?

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Like I said before the chapter started, this will be the last short chapter for a while, so you can expect longer chapters from here until further notice. Remember, all writing and no reviews makes Herbal a sad girl ^_~ Haha but seriously, I love reading what you all have to say and you all have been wonderful with the feedback, positive and negative. I do take all of them into account while writing.**

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	10. Chapter 9: Monster

**A long overdue chapter, but at least it's super long! Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Past_

Early November left Gotham's air crisp with a lingering chill coming down from the north. The city had transitioned smoothly into fall, which was starting to show the beginnings of the bleakness of winter. I was settling into my role as the Joker's therapist with equal ease.

I managed my days with precision, even more so than when I attended classes, to keep my mind sharp enough to handle the Joker at his most devious. But even I knew I hadn't seen that yet. I knew that someday I would. In the depths of my soul and 'academic curiosity', a part of me longed to see that side of the Joker, to witness the extent of his knowledge, to see what he saw. Deep within my own unconscious, I already did. I understood part of his truth. Weren't we all just wandering around, pretending our lives were simple, that we were normal?

But I was content with normality as it was. It allowed me to live comfortably. Right now, normality was waking up at 8 in the morning, and arriving at Arkham at 10:45 on Wednesdays.

I strolled into Arkham Asylum one Wednesday that early November. Wrapped snug in my violet peacoat, I greeted Bianca at the reception desk with a smile and my purse for her to take.

"Doing well, Bianca?" I asked as she handed me my white lab coat.

The dark rings under her brown eyes had slowly been disappearing over the past month since I met her, and her mood had been gradually becoming more chipper.

"I'm great," she grinned. "How about you?"

"About the same. How's Momo doing?" I gathered my notebook, file, and this week's book choice, Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_ , into my arms after shrugging on the coat, covering my striped pull-over sweater and chambray shirt. She pulled out her iPhone and brought up a video, displaying a King Charles Spaniel puppy chasing after a ball and skidding on hard wood floors after it. I cooed at the adorable video of Bianca's puppy before leaving for the top floor with Allen Push, who was always waiting to escort me.

"Dr. Push, if it takes up too much of your time to escort me to the therapy room, I can always take myself there. I know the way by now, so there shouldn't be any need. I'm sure you have some important work to handle," I brought up to him as we entered the elevator.

"It's no problem at all," Allen Push replied as stiffly as usual. "In fact it is part of my job to escort you to the Joker's therapy room. I am under direct orders from the faculty of the the Psychology Department at Gotham University and elsewhere."

My eyebrow twitched. I shook it off. "I'm sure they are overreacting. I trust that I am perfectly safe here in Gotham, especially since you seem to run a tight ship."

Not even my compliment made him smile. The closest I got was a narrowing of his gray eyes and the sucking in of his cheeks. "You most certainly are, and yet this is still the most secure mental hospital in the country. No guests, not even part-time employed therapists for the most dangerous criminally insane psychopath in the world can be walking around Arkham without an escort."

It made sense, but part of me was still embarrassed that I couldn't be trusted yet. They trusted me enough to pick the most dangerous mind in the country and yet they didn't trust me to walk to the therapy room alone?

I was about to mention the paradox when the elevator door opened and he strode out ahead of me, not even giving me a chance to open my mouth. I dodged a couple of doctors with files in their hands speaking to one another, trying to keep up with Allen Push's unnaturally long strides, wondering if they got longer every week. I glanced up at a corner, something black in my peripheral vision. A blinking security camera, watching my every move. They really were everywhere. Nothing went amiss here, and I couldn't help myself but feel a little violated as well.

Like always, the therapy room sat at the end of this hallway. Easy enough. I don't know what I would have done if there were turns right and left through the labyrinth of halls and passages in the confusingly named wards. Right now, we were in Ward 6F. Glancing down a hall of patient rooms, I saw that hall was called Ward 6T. Wait, what? There had to be some order to it. Or a map somewhere.

Right at the end of the hallway from the stepping off the elevator. Simple and uncomplicated.

We stopped at the heavy metal door, as always guarded by two heavily armed men, who I found out two weeks ago were named Josh and Pedro after I realized I felt more comfortable knowing who would likely have to interfere if things with the Joker got out of hand. I gave them both a nod and they returned it with equal friendliness.

"I understand you know the drill by now, Dr. Woodward. I will be here at the end of the session to escort you back. If you need anything, please tell Josh or Pedro here." Allen Push sounded like he was regurgitating the old news. I forced a smile on my lips and nodded. "Very well." He turned without saying another cold word and walked off, tight and straight as a pencil. I caught myself rolling my eyes, but shook my head, wondering where that bit of rudeness came from.

"Careful, Doctor," Josh warned me. I blinked at him for more. "He's been disruptive lately. Causing a lot of ruckus. Next week he may be in a straitjacket. If things look like they're going to go awry in there, just call out for us."

Problematic. But not unmanageable. At least I hoped so. I gave him a nod and I turned the door handle to enter the therapy room.

"Y'know, Dr. Woodward," the Joker drawled, his voice a pleased growl, "I've come to look forward to our weekly meetings together. Making the most of my time with you...it's the highlight of my week."

My smile was genuine. "I'm happy to say the same."

His hands rested on his lap as he sat up on the chaise longue, twitching and stretching as if he wanted to do something with them. I often found myself observing his hands, not just to make sure I knew where they always were, but because they fascinated me. He had such large hands, long experienced fingers, prominent knuckles, and just by looking at them, I could see the tendons running through from the backs on his hands down his fingers, sinewy and forceful. I believed you could always tell a lot about a person based on their hands and his surely told an incredible story. I wanted to discover it. No, I _needed_ to discover it. It was a desire I couldn't shake.

"So what is it this week?"

I was wondering what Josh and Pedro were warning me about. The Joker was relatively calm, his voice drawled out more and his energy was lessened. The only thing that made me on edge were his hands of course, tense, like he was trying to break free of something.

Complying, I lifted my book for him to see the cover, and then handed it to him. Shaking, his hands grasped the book.

"Ahhh, Frankenstein," he cooed.

"My thirteenth reread," I admitted.

He kept his face down at the book, but his eyes watched me, all-seeing.

"And what is it about Frankenstein that calls to you to read it so many times?"

All of our sessions started out this way. It fell into the normal routine with the Joker, he would ask about my book and we would strike up a conversation about it and it would launch off into something else, his thoughts and beliefs on something. But we never talked about personal details, however. Just his thoughts.

"The writing mostly, it's beautiful. And the message it notates. Gothic Victorian Literature is similar in that respect," I replied.

"And what message is that?" He asked, handing me back the book. Part of me wondered if he knew already. He was incredibly intelligent, that much I knew. The fact that he was also immensely educated was something that threw me for a loop sometimes, so he obviously knew more than he let on.

"Who the real monster is."

He gave me his signature smile. "Go on."

I swallowed, every inch of me wanting to know what he was thinking and where he could possibly take the conversation. I learned from our sessions these past weeks that he always someway to tie whatever I'm reading into a conversation about philosophy, more importantly, his philosophy. How he saw everything in the world. I found his thoughts to be more interesting than my favorite book, but they were only the effects of a life full of causes. His story remained hidden to me.

"Between the creator and the created. Dr. Frankenstein created a man, playing God, without fully realizing his responsibility and consequences of his actions. The Monster was an innocent and was driven to do horrible things by the Doctor and others calling him a monster, in order to be loved. They called him a monster, so he became one. But is it the Monster, the created, that is truly the evil one, or Dr. Frankenstein who treated him like one until he turned into one," I explained.

He listened intently, the smile still plastered on his face. "You said he was an innocent. How so?" He knew, I could see it in his bright gray-green eyes, sparkling with intellect. I never thought green eyes dulled by gray around the irises could still appear bright, glowing with a knowledge about the world that I could only dream of understanding. All part of his past. I've only had a handful of sessions with the Joker, and I was as close to learning about his past as I was to making Allen Push smile. He always seemed to control where these conversations went, which was fine, beneficial to the patient, but not him. He was too smart to let me take control. I tried to steer the conversation but it never came around. There would never be a straight story or mention of his past from him. I still had to figure out how to dig deeper.

"He was born with no experiences or hatred to taint his mind, or hands..." I said, eyeing him carefully. The corner of my lips lifted into a smirk. "No one is born evil."

"And this 'monster' is cast out upon creation because of his looks, correct?" He speculated. He knew.

I nodded.

"And here we delve into the misfortunes of disability in society," he continued on. "His looks were subject to societal shunning, like many others—"

"The Phantom, Quasimodo," I listed.

"Yes, and it bleeds into modern society," his tone seemed to darken, and his hands trembled even more. "Those of us unfit to meld into what society wants us to be are crammed and forced into a life of the big boy's making."

My eyes kept fluttering to his hands. "But there must be a way to fight back." I wondered if he did at some point. If he still was.

He tilted his head and leaned forward. "Y'know about as well as I do that it's not that easy, _Doctor_."

I broke away from his gaze. Instead of blushing, I felt my face go cold, knowing what he was referring to.

 _This is what happens when you let him into your head. Dr. Carlson warned you._

But the voice wasn't warning me, it was mocking me. Laughing at me.

"How's your anxiety doing, Babydoll?" He asked, slowing forming another menacing grin.

My jaw clenched together, my breathing shallow, suddenly feeling like a pawn. I must have been out of my mind to reveal something like that to him, who could use it to manipulate me and get more of what he wanted out of me.

I met his gaze again, my face straightening. "It's been perfectly manageable."

"But it hasn't always been," Joker reiterated. It wasn't a question.

Why did I tell him that?  
Because he understands.

"And how did the world treat ya because of it?"

I parted my lips to answer, but closed them again. A small sheen of sweat had started to form on his temples. Distracted, I shook my head. "I didn't...tell anyone about it. Only close friends and family."

"And why is that?"

I swallowed, my throat, my throat dry. "For the sake of being normal. For others to see me as normal." Here it was, the normality topic again. Most of our conversations came back down to this.

"Continue," he pushed. His voice was strained. I knit my eyebrows together at this.

"To function in a society that would otherwise deny me opportunity. Anxiety is seen as taboo, and to those who don't understand it it is an issue that can be easily fixed, even though it's not that simple. Anxiety that is treated through medication and therapy is a problem people think can manifest into something worse in certain situations, like a workplace. I've seen it happen too many times. It's the price one pays, I suppose. It's a vicious cycle, no way of winning. I'm sorry, but are feeling alright?"

His breathing, I noticed, had gotten heavier, but not in the way he did when he got angry or peeved. His shaking hands, the sheen of sweat, strained voice, now this.

He didn't reply, and strained himself not to. I could sense the anger and tension. I slid from my chair to my knees on the floor in front of him.

"Let me see your hands," I ordered him. This was probably one of the stupidest things I'd ever done. It was bad enough I was in the same room with him, but ordering him and being so close to him like that...I had to be asking for it.

His hands reluctantly released some tension on his knees, resulting in a low growl escaping from his lips. They were cold, almost clammy in my own warm hands. They were so big, mine felt like a child's in comparison. The tremble in them was like a wild, shaky, uneven vibration. I turned them over, observing them more closely.

"I'm not much of a hand holder, but I must admit it is pleasing to see ya on your knees in front of me like this," he drawled with a smirk.

I narrowed my eyes at him, unappreciative of what he was insinuating, but I continued observing.

"Do they have you on any new medications?" I asked. They better not have. While I was his therapist, he also had a psychiatrist assigned by Arkham to prescribe him medications. Dr. Carlson informed me that he and the staff at Gotham worked with the psychiatrist, but all medications that the Joker was on were listed in his file. He had been fine for weeks. What changed?

"Not that I know of, Babydoll. But I have been downing more than one pill of the usual in the past week," he admitted.

My eyes widened. "Are you telling me they increased your dosage?"

"You sound so surprised," he growled. I released his hands and he curled them into tight balls on his thighs.

"They're supposed to inform me and ask permission if they can change medications or the dosage. This is unacceptable," I huffed, standing.

"That doesn't seem to be the only thing they're keeping from ya," he added, his head cocked to the side. I must have looked like an idiot staring at him. "What do you mean?"

"They always seem to have eye everywhere don't they?" His voice was a whisper, the danger and venom as prominent as ever.

My breath got caught in my chest, my body freezing. I finally forced my eyes to dart to a corner of the room. Nothing. And then back to Joker. Was he playing me? His eyes rolling slowly to a corner behind me. I jerked my head around. At first I didn't see anything, until I saw a small blinking and a minuscule black box resting in the corner where the ceiling and the walls met. I approached the wall slowly, not taking my eyes from the blinking. When I was able to confirm my fears, my heart sped up and my fingers curled into fists, my fingernails piercing my tender palms. A camera. A _security_ camera. They were recording our sessions. After I was assured they wouldn't.

"I can't believe this," I breathed.

"Oh, I can," Joker said behind me.

I spun on my heels and grabbed my file and notebook from the chair.

"I'll be right back," I hissed.

"I look forward to it," I heard him say as I knocked on the door. A second passed before Josh opened it, peering inside at me with a puzzled look on his rough face.

"I need to speak to Allen Push," I snapped. When Josh didn't say anything either out of pure surprise or refusal, I added, "Immediately, please!"

He nodded and turned to Pedro who muttered into his walkie-talkie.

Josh peered again at the Joker, who still sat on the chaise longue, stagnant. He wasn't going anywhere. Josh opened the door a little more to let me through. Not a moment later another heavily padded and armed guard arrived to take me to the security room where he explained that Push was filling out some paperwork.

Winding through the corridors of Arkham, an over-saturated, twisted maze, I didn't waste a single moment when I recognized the security office door and flung it open. To say that Allen Push looked perplexed would be an understatement. His stern face was harder and bored an expression of extreme annoyance. And I couldn't give two shits. He put his pen down on the paperwork he was signing.

"Dr. Woodward, what is the meaning—"

I didn't give him a chance to finish before my eyes darted to the security screens and spotting the Joker in one of them. I jabbed my finger at it, interrupting him:

"Care to explain this?"

His eyes regarded the screen, but his face remained blank.

"I was assured by the Psychology Department that his sessions were not being recorded," I nodded.

Allen Push cleared his throat. "Dr. Woodward, I understand you are still a novice, and trust me, I was initially against bringing you in until I felt I had no other choice but to call Dr. Carlson, however, you must understand that with a patient like the Joker, certain security protocols must be upheld—"

"I was _assured_ that our sessions would be confidential. This is a _serious_ breech of privacy not just on the patient's part but my part as well," I vented.

He stared at me, his eyebrows risen in displeasure and nonchalance. Unimpressed. Like I was being unreasonable. Like a child throwing a fit over something I had no power to change. Fuck that.

"I request that you turn off the recorder and the monitor," I demanded.

He looked at me like I was a kitten trying to be a lion. And maybe I was, but I refused to go down without a fight. I was willing to bite, gnaw, and roar to win.

"Dr. Woodward," Push finally said, "I don't believe you have any authority to make such a request."

I felt my eyebrow twitch. I swiftly maneuvered around him to a desk in the far corner of the room and grabbed the phone, lifting it to my ear.

"Dr. Woodward—!" He began to protest.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm using your phone," I interjected.

"And who are you calling, if I may ask?" He demanded.

"Dr. Carlson," I replied. "I'm sure he'll have something to say." My fingers began to push phone keys.

Allen Push snorted. "You will not find much support from your Psychology Department."

My fingers hovered over the keys for a moment as I stared at him. For some reason, my head couldn't interpret what he meant, but the sinking feeling in my stomach did. The lack of action with the phone resulted in the line going void. I had to think quickly. I clicked the receiver.

"Fine. I'm sure the police would have something to say about the contract here in my file that assures me that our sessions would be kept private," I said. My finger hovered over the 9 for a split second until alarm flashed in Push's eyes and he stepped forward.

"Police arriving will only cause alarm to the patients," he warned me. Bullshit excuse.

"I'm sure it will be a hassle for them as well. But a violation is a violation and my contract clearly states confidential sessions with my patient," I replied dryly.

I gave him a moment to stand there with his thoughts before I did anything. He finally stepped up to the monitor. I surveyed his actions carefully as he typed the camera number, pushed the record button until the red dot on the screen disappeared, and pushed escape until the screen went black. I placed the phone down onto the receiver.

"Thank you. I will be having a serious conversation with Dr. Carlson about this," I told him. He snorted once more and I strode out of the security office, the guard waiting there curiously. I gave him a nod towards the direction we came from, signaling him to take me back to the therapy session room.

He did.

Josh and Pedro gave me worried looks that I casually ignored as I entered the room. Glancing back at the suspicious corner of the room, I noted that there was no blinking, meaning that Push hadn't turned it back on as soon as I left. The clock on the wall read 5 minutes till 12:30. I had wasted so much time. Glancing at the chaise longue, I realized that the Joker was not there.

My breath caught in my throat as I glanced around the small room. I stepped further into the room, placing my folder and notebook on the chair. I began to pick at my nails. I should have alerted the guard immediately, but maybe they thought I had called off the session when I stormed off. My heart beat hard and rapidly. I finally convinced myself to go to the guards.

Before I took the step to turn around, I felt a body slam into my back and an arm wrap around my neck, keeping me in a head lock.

A shrill gasp launched from my throat, my hands shooting up to his arm curled around my neck and shoulders. He took the opportunity to snake his other arm around my waist, holding me to his tall, lithe, and muscular form.

 _Don't scream, don't scream_ , I told myself. It would only provoke him. But God I wanted to.

"Much appreciated, Babydoll," he purred in my ear. "I wondered how long it would take ya to notice that they've been watchin'."

My face burned, my breathing was heavy. How I wanted to scream.

 _You need him to trust you._

What was he going to do? I couldn't do anything that would give him the reason or opportunity to hurt me. But he was the Joker. Unpredictable was in his nature. I just had to tread carefully.

"How long have you known?" I asked, my voice trying to to sound calm. Inside I was screaming and slashing.

"Oh, I've always known," he growled. "Ever since I met those fucks with the Psychology Department, drugging me and pounding me for information. Testing me and bringing more useless assholes to pester me. Oh no, Babydoll, they've been watchin' long before ya got here. Them and that pussy blonde pretty boy they've had treating me lately."

My heart ceased it's rapid thrumming. Who?

"S-Staz?" I uttered.

I didn't need to see the Joker to know that he was grinning. "Yeahhh...him. A frienda yours?"

 _Be careful how your answer._

"A friend and colleague," I swallowed.

"Hmmmm, is that so?" He cooed in my ear, his breath warm against my neck, sending an unwanted strange chill down the length of my body. "Some friend, right? Doesn't tell ya he's dopin' up your patient."

 _I'm sure he had a reason._

 _Rip his head off._

I took a steady breath in. "Yeah, it's too bad. He's a great karaoke partner."

"Ha ha ha..." his laugh rang in my ear as he began to rock us from side to side. My hands still clutched his arm bidding him to let go. The rhythm of the rocking somehow calmed me and I had to force myself not to loosen my grip. I had to stay on guard.

This must have been what Josh meant earlier. I wondered when they started increasing his dosage to make him act like this. He was strong, even now as medicated as he was. Still he was calm now. Maybe...

I slightly pulled at his arm and tried to turn my body to spin out of his arms but he gripped me tighter around the waist.

"Not so fast, Babydoll." His breath against my skin once more made me release the tiniest whimper. "Mmmmm...Y'know, it would be so easy to crush you like this," his arms tightened even more around, making it that much harder to breathe, "but that would mean wasting such a brilliant mind to disassemble."

Not comforting. A sharp pounding on the door sounded and he released me. I stumbled forward and spun around just as the door opened. Josh and Pedro entered with two nurses, straitjacket in their hands. He merely glowered at me with that scarlet smile on his face as they wrapped him up. He didn't blink. Not once. His gaze unwavering.

It wasn't until he left and I was alone in the therapy room did I remember to breathe.

* * *

I hated doing this. Sitting outside of Dr. Carlson's office, my foot tapping on the linoleum floors, impatient and nervous, with a side of nail picking. I could hear the muffled voice of my mentor through the door, sounding perplexed in a lengthy phone call. It was three days following my last session with the Joker and it had only been one day since my near melt down in the office of my own therapist. I had held back. I had been keeping it in all the while I called her for an emergency meeting as soon as they possibly could, and still I couldn't bring myself to just let it all out. The sheer panic and alarm I had felt in that room with the Joker holding onto me and breathing into my ear. Anything could have happened. Anything.

I had fought with myself for the past several days that maybe having the cameras wasn't a horrible idea, especially after what I had just encountered. But I knew I couldn't have been in any horrible danger. Josh and Pedro had been waiting just outside the door, a single scream from me or a brash knock on that door would have brought them in. I had to remind myself of that. Right now it was the principle. It was the breech in my contract that brought me here. Yeah, maybe it was a good idea to keep him under tight surveillance, but what if his knowing that he was being watched was what was making him hold back revealing certain information I could use to help him?

My foot brushed against my bag on the floor, the rattling of a bottle full of pills interrupting the quiet of the hall. I checked to make sure no one saw before I pulled my bag onto my lap and read the label on the bottle, still hiding in the bag.

I hadn't been on medications for my anxiety in awhile. It had been manageable, everything falling into a peaceful routine and keeping my mind busy. I had the occasional attack when things got rough but it was usually contained with some breathing exercises and tricks my therapist recommended.

But after my last session with the Joker...

I hadn't taken any yet. I was still hesitant to, wondering if I was overreacting or if I should just suck it up. But that fact that my hands were still shaking at the recurring thought of his arm around my neck, squeezing tighter as he purred in my ear was enough the make me pop the top off the bottle and pour the recommended two pills onto my eager hand, downing it with water from my water bottle.

I was twisting the cap back on the bottle of pills when Dr. Carlson's office door opened.

"Ah, Woodward, there you are," Dr. Carlson noted. Where else would I be? "Come on in."

Letting the bottle slide into my bag and slinging it over my shoulder, I followed my professor into his office and let him shut the door as I sat in the chair in front of his desk.

Dr. Carson cleared his throat. "I, uh...heard what happened at Arkham a couple of days ago..."

I stiffened my shoulders. It took me a second to decide what I wanted to say. "A lot happened at Arkham."

"Yes..." He pondered, studying me as he sat on the edge of his desk in front of me. "Well, frankly, Woodward, I'm not sure what to say."

That you were wrong?

"Sir..." I began. My heart pounded, for fear that I was going to come off as a fool, naive, that I didn't know what I was talking about. But that feeling in my gut was churning all the way up to my heart; I knew what had happened was wrong. It said specifically on my contract, resting in a folder in my bag next to my medications. "It has come to my attention that my contract has been breached." It felt good to finally say it to him, what I've been wanting to say since that day in Arkham. Of course, seeing the blank, almost scrutinizing expression on his aging face made me doubt again. Almost. I took in a breath. "Multiple times." The addition was necessary, not only because it was true, but because it made me feel like my claim was more valid.

"How so?" He simply asked, questioning for enlightenment. As if he didn't already know.

I pulled the folder out of my bag, the edge of it snagging on the strap. "It clearly states on page 3 that all of my sessions with my patient would not be recorded, they would be 100% confidential, except when approached by his psychiatrist, whom I was never approached by, nor was I actually given his name, to discuss relative information about the patient and to be informed about medical dosage increases, decreases, or changes." I flipped through the packet of papers to the third page where lines of text flashed neon pink. "It was several days ago when I learned that our sessions have been recorded by Arkham Asylum, and the psychiatrist had increased his dosage of a medication that has effected the patient without my knowing nor consent."

I bent the corners of the packet back, fully revealing the page and held it out for Dr. Carlson. A simple raised hand at the offer was all he needed to say that he knew what the contract said. It would have passed off as a mistake if he had taken the time to look at it. But he knew...he knew what the contract said and that I was right.

Dr. Carlson removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Woodward...I appreciate your regard for professionalism within the workplace and your craft, but...you must understand the circumstances with your patient."

I blinked several times, wondering if I was truly hearing this as I shoved the contract back into the folder.

He sighed. "I can understand your, er, disappointment. Allen Push alerted me of your encounter with him and what you...threatened to do."

I stared at him with glassy, unimpressed eyes. "Given my alarm and the breach, it most certainly would have been appropriate."

He scrunched his face, showing off the aging lines his otherwise mostly calm expressions hid. "Ah, Woodward, that's where you're actually wrong."

I knit my eyebrows together.

His face softened and he donned his friendly smile with a trace of empathy in his eyes. "Listen, Woodward, you're new to this. I know you're extremely intelligent, and you have the guts to take on a project that one else wanted to. But this is also a...to describe it...a delicate case. As you know, the government is...somewhat involved, him being a high profile criminal. It's not as simple as simply turning off the recording cameras."

The doubt started to creep into my brain. He was my professor. He had been in this profession for about as long as I've been alive. He was right, the Joker was a high profile criminal, someone the government had to keep tabs on. But...why my therapy sessions? Especially when he had a psychiatrist as well...Staz. Did they record his sessions too? Did he know about it? Why wouldn't he tell me about something like this?

Dr. Carlson must have seen the ease on my face right then because he crossed his arms and leaned in a little. "Does this...sort of clarify some things for you?"

 _No._

 _Stop._

I cleared my throat, not finding the words to say.

He sighed. "Now, I assure you that Allen Push will not be recording your sessions anymore."

"What about the psychiatrist?" I inquired.

His lips thinned into a line for a brief second. "The psychiatrist will be spoken to, I assure you. He will make sure that all notes regarding the Joker's meds will reach you in due time."

"Yes, sir, thank you, but I would also like to know who they are."

He stared at me. "Right now, Dr. Woodward, I would like for you to focus on the patient. Your insights are truly valuable. But right now...we would like to separate the two of you until we can get some more information regarding the Joker from the psychiatrist. You see, he was recently added as his new psychiatrist, that's why there was a change. But right now, we are looking into any changes with the two of you as his primary therapists and seeing what results can be noticed until we bring the two of you together to coincide."

They still wouldn't tell me who he was. So I wouldn't track him down. But that meant this was some sort of experiment on the Joker. And I was still not informed. Why all of the secrets?

"I assure you, Woodward, that as soon as we have enough information, we will bring the two of you together, alright?"

My mind flashed to that day. Walking back into the therapy room, the Joker trapping me in his arms, breathing and purring in my ear. It was so frightening, the one day he was without a straitjacket was of course the one day he attacked me.

"Alright?" Dr. Carlson's voice urged through my memory. I snapped back into the moment of my being in his office.

Without fully thinking, I nodded. I trusted Dr. Carlson. He had given me so much, faith, knowledge, and this opportunity, when it was clear that I wasn't qualified nor was I wanted by the Asylum.

"Good, glad to hear it," he confirmed, clapping me on the shoulder. He straightened up from the desk and I stood myself, my eyes glued to the musty, old rug that adorned the floor.

"Woodward," he said. I snapped my head up to him and concerned etched in his face. "Did...anything else happen that day at Arkham?"

I hesitated before shaking my head. "N-no."

He didn't look convinced but he was willing to let it go. For now.

As I made my way to the door, I turned suddenly. "Sir, I just had one last question."

"Of course, Woodward. Anything."

"Staz," was all I said. He blinked at me, placing his glasses back on his nose.

"Er, yes, what about him?"

That was all I needed. The confirmation was there is his feign ignorance.

I shook my head. "Oh, uh...nothing. I guess I was just wondering if you happened to know where he might be."

"Ah...yes, he should be wrapping up with Dr. Peabody and their class down the hall."

I nodded. "Of course. Thank you."

Out in the hallway again, I nodded to Dr. Carlson as he closed his office door just as Dr. Peabody's class was filing out. I stood by, waiting for the last of the stragglers to make their ways into the stairwell or elevator.

I inched closer to the classroom and peeked inside to see if I could spot Staz without catching the notice of Dr. Peabody. Chances were, she heard about what happened at Arkham, and the last thing I wanted was a condescending stare and snippy lecture. But Staz wasn't anywhere to be seen within the classroom. Dr. Peabody sat quietly at the table in front of the whiteboard, her usual spot, typing away on her laptop.

He must have left early, and I just missed him.

I slung the strap of my bag onto my shoulder and tightened my shoulders, marching out of the hallway and into the stairwell as quickly as possible.

I hadn't realized how much I needed the fresh air until I stepped outside, a brisk gust of wind attacking my face on the street outside of Lowry Building. My bangs fluttered about my head, and my french braid jerking around the collar of my violet peacoat. I looked both ways on the sidewalk, searching for an opening within the lines of people going about their normal lives.

Normal...

"Emily?" I heard a voice say.

My head snapped around to see Staz standing right behind me at the entrance to the building I had just stepped out of.

He made a face. "You okay?"

I shook my head, finally realizing what was happening. "Uh, yeah. Hi, Staz."

He snickered, stepping around me onto the sidewalk. "You look confused. The Joker finally getting to your head?"

I knew he was joking, but for someone reason I couldn't bring myself to laugh, or even smile. All I could do was stare at him, his hands shoved into his coat pockets, securing the strap of his brown leather messenger bag. I saw his expression drop when he saw a lack of response.

I blinked, revealing a small smile. "Ha, yeah, sorry, it's just been a long week." That was for sure.

He nodded, giving me the same expression Dr. Carlson did when I said nothing else happened at Arkham. "Yeah, I heard you had a small fallout with Push earlier this week." So he had heard. Why would anyone tell him, unless he worked at Arkham himself? "Don't worry about it, Push is a creep with a picked up his ass."

I nodded slowly. "Yeah...I know." I grasped at my bag's strap. "You know...The Joker mentioned you the other day."

There was something in Staz's eyes that I couldn't place. His expression was unreadable and I wondered if he would respond with what I wanted him to. He flashed his perfect smile, completely unfazed.

"Did he really?"

"Yeah."

"I can't believe he remembered me after my final over a year ago. What did he say about me?" Staz chuckled.

Why was he playing along too? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wasn't the Joker's new psychiatrist. Maybe the Joker really was just playing with my mind, trying to drive me insane, to doubt and suspect those I could trust.

I grinned and released a laugh. "That you were some pussy blonde boy, more or less offensive"

He seemed pleased with the comment. "I wouldn't expect any less." He waved at me before turning away. "See you around, Woodward."

I watched him disappear into the thread of people wrapped in their dark coats to protect themselves from the cold. Though the doubts crept into my mind slowly, I desperately didn't want to believe them. My mind was betraying me so often these days, and my gut still told me that something was off. I just couldn't decided which one to believe. I decided to wait until my meds kicked in to see how I felt about it later. Intuition never failed me in times of need. But neither did my brain when my anxiety wasn't kicking in. There wasn't any knowing right now.

A cup of tea was much needed, and perhaps a new book. I wove through the crowds of people down the street, thinking about where the nearest bookstore was.

* * *

 **I'm so sorry I haven't posted in so long! I was originally going to make this a two chapter thing to post simultaneously and then when I realized how big these chapters were, I hit a block. That and numerous other life things. A friendly reminder, my lovely readers: please take care of yourselves. It's good to be busy but don't overwork yourself. Take the time you need to take care of yourself; not just your job, your friends, and family members. Make sure you're taking the time to pursue your hobbies and what makes you happy. Your sanity matters too :)**

 **The next chapter may take a little while, but I made sure I had a nice long chapter for you. The next one will be even more important, and even more thrilling ;D**

 **Thank you so much to my beta for getting back to me so quickly with this massive chapter.**

 **Reader Shoutouts:**

 **LouisianaSiren96: you have been the greatest push for me to continue writing this fanfiction, and the best person to vent to. I hope you enjoy this long overdue chapter!**

 **Lili: You've been commenting since the beginning and I greatly appreciate it.  
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 **If you want more, Follow and Favorite, and let me know what you think in the Comments! I appreciate every single review!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	11. Chapter 10: Naked

**Hi everyone! There are no words to express how sorry I am for not posting in such a long time. I have a list of reasons, but I won't name them all for your sake. Here is the next chapter. It's just in time for the holiday season too! I have some good stuff at the end too! Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Past_

That feeling I'd had in my gut did eventually subside as soon as my anxiety medication kicked in. The turmoil in my brain had drained away. Everything fell back into a routine and I was able to relax on the days I didn't schedule to write and research my thesis.

Everything fell into a...calm.

The next time I returned to the therapy room, I immediately noticed the camera had been taken down completely. I also hadn't seen Allen Push. Probably for the best. I wasn't sure if I would be able to handle the awkwardness of that encounter. Further odd behavior from Staz and Dr. Carlson ceased as well. It was as if that day hadn't happened. Part of me wondered if I had imagined it, or dreamed it up entirely. But given the bliss I had allowed to re-enter into my life, I refused to believe that it was anything to worry about anymore.

I was fine. I was safe.

There was nothing out of the ordinary. I had allowed my anxiety and paranoia to get the best of me. I had been spooked by the Joker. That was all.

Thanksgiving passed in a blur, not that it was anything special. Coming up on Christmas, Mom and Dad went traveling overseas. I wanted to stay in Gotham to work and relax and focus on my thesis. They deserved a vacation. Staz invited me down to Florida for the holidays, though I declined. The last time I went down to Florida with him for a spring break vacation, his family kept bothering us, asking if we were dating. I still had his grandmother's number in my phone.

Holiday depression never caught up to me. It was actually comforting to be alone in my apartment, reading books by the heater with a cup of tea and a warm quilt over my legs, writing reviews on Goodreads, picking up my old keyboard and practicing favorite musical theater songs that left me humming Rodgers & Hammerstein and Andrew Lloyd Webber for days. It was _South Pacific_ 's I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair in the shower, _Bye Bye Birdie_ 's How Lovely to Be a Woman while dressing and during my minimal make up routine, _Once_ down the streets of Gotham, _Phantom of the Opera_ while shopping, and _Cinderella_ everywhere else.

The Wednesday before Christmas, I was humming Impossible when I walked through the doors of Arkham and handed Bianca a candy cane. She chuckled a thank you.

"The rest of the city is singing Bing Crosby and Mariah Carey, and you're humming a musical."

I wrinkled my nose at her and set down my folder and book. "How typical of me. Have you moved into the new apartment yet?"

"Not yet," Bianca beamed. "Just a couple more days, I have to set up renters insurance. And then it's midnight Margaritas whenever I want!"

I chuckled. "Feels good being an adult, doesn't it?"

She snorted. "I don't think anyone likes it. But, I have a full-time job, health insurance, and, soon, my own apartment. So I can't complain. Oh, and just so you know, the Joker has a new guard. Josh quit last Friday," Bianca leaned into her desk with a murmur.

"What?!" I gasped, pausing as I removed my warm coat and purse. "Why?!"

She shrugged, her snowflake diamond earrings jingling by her bronze jawline. "I don't know. No one, not even Pedro, would tell me. But we got a replacement about 3 days later."

"That quickly? With security clearance?" I asked. Given, mine had been quick, but 3 days and he had already started?

"He's shadowing Pedro right now. I guess with someone like the Joker you can't really afford to lose time. None of the other security guards here wanted to take the job. I remember Pedro saying that the new guy seemed almost overqualified for the job. But..." Bianca shrugged again. "I guess if it means extra security, who can complain?"

"I guess so," I replied, my mind wandering. I opened my purse and grabbed out a small rolled up Ziploc bag of cherry cordial filled Hershey's Kisses. "I know we're technically not allowed to, but," I whispered, "would it be alright if I brought these up?"

Bianca bit her sparkly glossed lip, and then grinned. "I saw nothing." And she handed me my white lab jacket.

With playful shifty eyes, I shoved the baggie into one of the pockets. We giggled at each other until I looked over and spotted a tall hulk of a man, a security guard, standing ten paces away from me, watching my every move.

He was so huge, and decked in protective gear, that I was certain he could crush my head like a sparrow's egg between his thighs.

The color drained completely from my face, and I know it did because my heart stopped and I started to feel a gauze of cold sweat form on my forehead. Even Bianca bit her lips, her eyes wide, once she noticed him herself.

Not only could I get in trouble and be reported to Allen Push, I could lose my job; and given my current relationship with Allen Push, I was already on thin ice. A move like this reported to him...I could lose this opportunity and the trust of my professors as a competent therapist. Bianca could also lose her job, and given her situation, she couldn't risk losing her's either.

We waited for him to say something. His face was steel, and everything about him intimidated me. It wasn't until he smirked did I feel my heart start to pound again.

"I'm here to take you to J," he said. My eyes shot to Bianca who looked just as confused as I did. The situation could go anywhere from here. I turned my horrified stare back to him and took in his buzz cut and slight aging lines. He had to be close to 40. I clutched my lab coat and grabbed my folder and book from the reception desk.

"You can call me Dorian," he said, his voice deep bass bravado. "I'm the Joker's new guard."

I nodded cautiously, letting him lead the way as Bianca leaned over the counter to watch us go. She was more scared than I was about this. Just because he didn't say anything now didn't mean that he wasn't going to.

My legs were so stiff, I was sure I was walking like a stick figure. The quiet was intensely growing, but it couldn't soothe the storm that was raging in my head. He peeked over his shoulder and mumbled something in my direction. "I won't say anything."

I knew my sigh of relief was more audible than it should have been. But I turned my head to look over my shoulder at Bianca and gave her a double thumbs up with calm eyes and a slight smile. She closed her eyes, liberation falling over her pretty face.

I followed Dorian into the elevator and up the 6 floors to the top, my heart regaining it's normal rhythm. I glanced at the new guard. I could have sworn I caught him studying me as well.

"So...how did you find out about the job?" I asked, the small talk sounding forced.

I thought I saw something flash in his eyes as he stood and stared straight ahead, but it was close to impossible to read what it was.

"I was assigned," he replied. It was so casual. As if anything about working in Arkham was casual. Nothing seemed to phase him about this place, as if it was completely normal. As if he had been working there for 2 years already. Perhaps if I looked as intimidating as him, I wouldn't be as afraid of working with the Joker.

We stepped out the elevator as soon as the doors slid open. Although I didn't feel like I still needed a guard to escort me to the therapy room, I was grateful. No matter how many times I walked the corridors to the therapy room, I just couldn't seem to remember where I needed to turn and where I was going. It was like the halls and doors changed every time I stepped foot into the Asylum. I didn't know how the doctors and nurses managed to get anything done in this place.

I hadn't realized that I had started to hum a little song while trekking through the bleached corridors, just to keep my mind from spinning at all of the turns. Coincidentally, I was humming Underground from _Labyrinth_. I had peeked through the corners of my eyes to see if Dorian had caught me, but he didn't seem bothered by anything. Not even the Doctors and care attendants going about their daily tasks. I wondered how he could keep so focused in a place like this. A scream from a patient several corridors away still made my heart race a little.

When we finally made it to the therapy room, I greeted Pedro with a smile.

"Good to see you again," I greeted him.

"How do you like the new guy?" He asked. I could sense some hesitation in the question, he was still upset over Josh quitting, but at least he was trying to save face and make the most of the situation.

"Very nice," I assured him, nodding towards Dorian. "Thanks for guiding me here. I still don't know my way around this floor and I've been here for months. I don't know how you do it."

He winked at me. "All in the training."

"Well maybe you can give me some pointers when I come out. One of these days I'm gonna get lost," I replied.

"There really shouldn't be a need," Pedro stepped in. "We're required to escort you to and from the therapy room at all times."

I knew I shouldn't have been surprised. I mean, I had been escorted every time since I started working there. But I figured eventually they would trust me enough to make my own way to and from the therapy room by myself. I had been working there for several months now. Sure, I still didn't know the way, but I hopefully would soon. Surely they would trust me enough to make my way around the Asylum for the sessions by myself someday.

Pedro seemed to have noticed the puzzled expression on my face, and he added, "I mean, you're only here for one patient. And he is a highly secured patient with known tendencies to...influence people in a way." I raised a suspecting eyebrow. Did they think I would be driven to madness by my sessions with him, to the point that I could be a threat to security? Pedro quickly stumbled over another addition, "Not just you. But other people in the Asylum as well. You know, other patients he comes into contact with, doctors, nurses, janitors...it's all for their and your safety. We don't make the rules, Doctor. And it's not just Push's or Gotham U's orders, it's government orders as well."

The government's? That's right. The woman whom I met at the start of my employment here. I couldn't recall her name at the moment. But I hadn't heard from her nor anyone claiming to be from the government since then. It made me wonder just how much control over the Asylum, or at least the care for the Joker, they had.

I bit my lip and gave Pedro a nod, then a smile, showing my understanding. Or at least partial understanding.

"Thanks," I said.

Dorian took his place on the other side of the door, and with a curt nod, Pedro opened the door.

Since my frightening encounter that day with the Joker, when I requested to have the cameras taken down, he had been tightly wrapped in a strait jacket. Part of me wondered if the staff knew what he had done. I certainly hadn't told anyone, and supposedly the camera had been turned off so no one would be able to look back on any evidence. Perhaps the increased dosage in his medications had made him more irritable and dangerous to others and they decided it was best to keep him restrained for now. Or maybe because they had the cameras taken down, as an extra precaution, they wrapped him up to prevent him from causing me harm.

Many of our sessions started out the same, a discussion about the book I was reading, which then turned into a deeper conversation about his views of the world and the society we lived in. They blended together most of the time, but I was always intrigued by his clear thoughts and opinions on the world. He made me think, and that was what made me look forward to the weekly sessions. But lately, things had come to a stand still in progress. I kept trying to push more and more into getting him to talk about his past. But the pushes never got me anywhere, just a turn around into me talking about my family or my views of the world, and how he challenged everything I knew.

"And how have ya been spending the past few weeks when you're not visiting your favorite patient?" He asked, hunched forward on the chaise longue. "I feel as though we talk so much about your silly society-formed opinions and how I contradict them, when we could be talking about you."

I chuckled. "Now, J, we both know by now that asking about my personal life isn't going to work as well as it used to."

I couldn't deny that when he cocked his head to the side, his grin glistening in the dim light, he looked a tad adorable; in a demented sort of way. His eyes shimmered playfully, and I knew his mind was reeling with all sorts of things he could say to get me to open up. I prayed he wouldn't find the right thing. I had to admit, sometimes it was fun (and almost impossible not) to open up to him. In his eyes the rest of us were common, puppets guided by society through the motions of normality. While I don't admire elitism in anybody, this trait in the Joker was fascinating. I understood why he believed he was better than everybody else.

"But we both know that these sessions have been going nowhere," he cooed. I squinted my eyes, my smirk still planted on my lips. "We both know that I'm not gonna give any new information up willingly about myself. So why don't we _mix_ things up a bit, huh? Even you have to admit that these things become far more interesting when you share more about your fascinating little self."

During the first several weeks of my working with him, our back and forth of sharing information was useful, but I eventually began to lessen how much I shared, as a majority of my life was very routine, and my past wasn't anything more than what I had already shared. Nothing was new. That, and part of me remembered what Dr. Carlson had said during my final: _Don't let him get in your head._

"There's not much that you don't already know," I replied.

"I have ta disagree with ya, Doctor," he purred, straightening. "Even you've said yourself that _people_ are _deep_. I bet there are some things ya haven't been sharing with me. Remember when we first started? All that succulent information ya got from me just from deducing my little opinions and statements? Dontcha wish ya could get more of that?"

He was right, it had worked in the past. I pursed my lips.

There still wasn't much I could share. Or maybe it was that there wasn't much I was willing to share. After my last scare with him, I had been especially careful how much information I shared with him. Knowing him, I knew that he had the ability to make me second-guess everything. The more he knew about me, the more he would be able to manipulate me. But it was too tempting; I hadn't been able to get anything new or interesting or helpful from him in awhile.

I finally smiled. "Well, who doesn't like talking about themselves?" I lied. "Ask away, anything you like. Although, fair warning, I won't answer anything too personal."

Joker _tsked_ at the challenge. "We wouldn't want ya feeling uncomfortable now, would we?"

"Me? Uncomfortable? Whatever gave you such an idea?" I joked. His grin widened at my jest.

"The world is so petty, don't you think?" He asked, relaxing back into the chaise longue like nothing.

I raised an eyebrow. Not what I was expecting. "How so?"

"Greedy, manipulative," he continued. "I never saw the use of things like holidays."

Intriguing topic. "Some people would say such things have turned into capitalist schemes to boost the economy. But it's true. I have seen people become more stressed, more consumed by the holidays simply because of what it has turned into rather than what it's supposed to mean," I agreed.

"I've never celebrated such things, Christmas, Thanksgiving...meaningless," he said.

I bit my lip. Here it was. The thrill of something new to look into sent tingles from my snug toes in their brown leather booties all the way up to my ears. "Never?" I hoped it didn't sound like I was pressing further, but I knew he noticed the intrigue in my eyes, and the slight lift in my voice. It made his smile widen more, if that was even possible.

"Not even a stocking on the fireplace." His voice had gotten throaty and high at the same time, as if he was mocking a sense of innocence and plea.

My pen scratched on the notepad without me even noticing I was doing it.

"I'm surprised you're still here," he inquired, his voice returning to it's deep, breathy gravel. "Seeing as it's so close to the _most wonderful time of the year_. Don't have anywhere to go?"

"Well, why would I go anywhere for the holidays and miss out on a session with you?" I blinked.

" _Ha ha ha haaa_..."

"In truth, I actually don't," I said through a giggle. "My family is away, my friends have all left or are spending time with their families. I'm by myself for the holidays. But I'm not upset over it. In fact, I'm almost relishing in it. I've needed some time to myself. And I know it's not that I'm unwanted. So there's something relaxing in being left alone during this time, but..." My gaze had wandered to the window, and found that it had started snowing. Little silver crystal flecks floating to the ground, creating a slick gray veil over the cement of the parking lot and over the few cars parked there. The first snow of the season.

I couldn't help but replace myself with my notepad and pen on the chair as I stood to stare at the near-Christmas snowfall. I had always lived in places where snow frequented the colder months, but it never failed to take my breath away.

Being so close to the window made me realize that there really wasn't sufficient heating in the therapy room. I wrapped my arms around me, rubbing the soft corduroy of my long-sleeved, cranberry red button down dress.

"But you're still a romantic for all the season has ta offer," Joker finished for me, a singe of mockery in his tone.

I turned my head back to him. He had twisted his restrained body on the chaise to stare me down, that hunger in his eyes.

Deciding to ignore it, I stepped away from the window, but I still peeked at the snow from the corner of my eye.

"It has its lovely qualities," I replied.

"And what have ya been doing with this time alone?"

There it was. I turned to him, arms still crossed over me, and smiled with a shrug. "Everything...and nothing. Whatever I feel like doing, locked in my apartment."

"Come on, Babydoll, ya know full well that's not good enough for me," he teased.

I chuckled, crossing a leg over the other, balancing myself as I stood awkwardly. "Just...reading, binge watching _Downton Abbey_ , writing, singing, playing keyboard...whatever strikes my fancy."

"Singing, huh? Ya did say when we first met that ya were in all sorts of theater," he edged.

I was curious to see where this was going to go. "Yes. I haven't performed in awhile, so breaking out some of my old audition books and my keyboard was...nice. I did sign up to audition for a community production of Chicago though. Just a little extracurricular activity, some creativity, to get me out of the school slump." I made my way back my seat, clutching my pen that knew it was going to etch something new and interesting.

He chuckled. "I couldn't help but overhear some humming in the hallway before ya came in. That wasn't you was it?"

I shrugged, making a face, in response. "Errr, maybe it was."

"No need to be so humble about it. If ya've got a talent like that, I say let the world hear what ya've got to offer."

I pursed my lips, trying to hide my smile.

"Ya know," he continued, "entertainment in this shit hole is so stale. It being such a 'special time of the year' and all, ya wouldn't oppose to a private performance, would ya?"

I narrowed my eyes, and a slow blush crept to my cheeks. Not only would that be unprofessional, but I wouldn't be able to handle the embarrassment if anyone walked in, or if I messed up. Just because I had the experience and I enjoyed performing, didn't mean that I didn't suffer from stage fright.

But part of me gave it some serious consideration. He enjoys music, he enjoys entertainment. Despite him constantly asking me for information about my life, which in truth gave me serious insight into his life and psychology, he never really asked anything of me. I had to admit to myself that even though he was a danger to everyone, including myself, I had grown fond of our meetings. His request made me more aware of his situation here; that he was alone, there was no one to visit him during holidays, or...ever. Not that he cared about the holidays anyway, but the part of me that desired to be someone he could rely on tugged at my insides.

The corners of my lips tugged upward. What harm would a song and a little tap routine do?

I bit my lip and released the smile I was trying to suppress.

"Alright," I relinquished as I stood.

I moved my chair aside, and paced for a few seconds, trying to remember some lyrics and dance steps, shaking out my hands and arms to loosen my muscles that had suddenly tensed up. After releasing a deep breath, I turned and faced the Joker, a whole orchestra and band playing in my head.

In my opinion, nothing beats _Anything Goes_ as a musical, especially where Sutton Foster is involved. I knew I could never display the belting pipes she had, but damn did I love to pretend I did.

My body moved easily through the simple steps and taps of my feet. The community theater I performed with as an extra for this show one summer between my sophomore and junior year of undergrad had ingrained the tap routines into us so thoroughly that, even after 4 years, I could do it in my sleep. I heard the music and the melody in my head as I sang and tapped, and the silliness and nervous churn in my gut began to subside.

Joker had a smile on his face, his eyes capturing every move my arms, feet, legs, and hips made. Focused on my little performance for him, I wasn't sure if his smile was the same as it always was, menacing and hungry, or if there was something else in it; an actual sense of enjoyment, maybe even happiness.

I sang with an openness that surprised me. The vibrato of my vibrant soprano vocals rang in the debilitated room with a clarity that made it seem like it lit up with warm colorful lights. It was a naked spirit that was relieving to expose, making me realize I had wanted to do it for the Joker for a long time. He had a way about him that made you want to tell him, and show him, everything about you. If you didn't, or couldn't, you felt like you were going to burst.

I realized I didn't miss a single step in the solo tap performance before returning to sing the bridge, my heeled booties sounding like light, sharp thumps on the linoleum tiles.

With the last note, high enough that I couldn't exactly belt it but I sang in my head voice anyway, I finished with my arms spread out wide, breathing deeply. I dropped them, releasing a mitigated chuckle as I rubbed my cheek to hide the fact that I was madly blushing, partly for my slight stage fright, and partly because the smile on his face was wider than I had ever seen it. And he was laughing.

I pulled my chair back towards me to it's original spot, laughing myself.

"Probably not what you're used to, but that's the best I've got," I laughed some more, trying to brush off the whole thing as if it never happened. I was suddenly very conscious of the fact that Dorian and Pedro were outside the door and probably heard everything.

" _Ha ha ha ha ha_..." His laugh was the same as always, but the tone was lively, like he had seen something that actually amused him. I couldn't help but laugh along with him.

"Well, I gotta tell ya, Babydoll, you've got some pipes and a rhythm," he cooed. "I haven't felt like that since the first time I held a gun."

It was like a splash of icy water slapped me across the face. I tried not to show my change in mood when I asked him: "An overwhelming sense of hilarity?"

His laugh slowed and he rolled his eyes upward. "Nah, Babydoll, _ecstasy_."

I don't know why I suddenly felt disturbed being in his presence. This shouldn't have surprised me. He was one of Gotham's most notorious crime bosses. I probably couldn't fathom how many arsenals he had hidden around the city, filled with weapons of horrid destruction and danger.

"When was that?" I asked, still trying to sound lighthearted. I knew it would be in vain, he could see through anything. But he knew that I knew that. Staying lighthearted was for myself.

"15 years old," he replied with a moment of Machiavellian apprehension, but there was an underlying tone of sincerity, like he truly wanted me to know.

"Rather young," I noted. I couldn't bare to scratch some notes down. His candid honesty was comforting, knowing that he was willing to be open about some of his past after being so evasive these past couple of months. Writing these long-kept secrets down would be like betraying his trust, like I was using him. I pondered for a brief second whether I should use this information in my thesis, if it would really be relevant. If anyone _needed_ to know this for 'science'.

"Not as young as I was when I first killed someone," he admitted with a grin as sharp as a knife.

I tried not to look so stricken. He would be able to see the fear on my face with a single flinch. He's killed lots of people. Probably more than what was in headlines. I just didn't imagine he would be so young when he started.

I swallowed hard. "How young was that?"

He tilted his head up, eyes wandering in thought. "Oh, not that much younger. But then, my choice of weapon was a knife."

This information all reeled in my head. Childhood trauma. That was my first inclination. He had to have suffered something in his childhood, probably early, to have snapped like that. Questions ran through my brain like a marathon. Who did he kill? Why? What happened after that? I wanted to ask them all. But I couldn't. There was a time and a place. Obviously the place would be here but I knew that if I asked all of these questions now he wouldn't answer them. He was already revealing some very valuable, personal information that took months for him to tell me. He wouldn't just expose his entire childhood to me in what remained of a better half of an hour. I imagined it would take another three months for him to be able to tell me the who, when, where, why, and how. Preferably less, especially since I've been gaining a huge amount of his trust during the time I've been seeing him. At least what could qualify as trust. But if it was possible for me to get just a little more out of him, I would be set until New Years.

"He must have done something to you to have deserved it then," I said carefully. "Children don't tend to make such rash decisions without cause."

There was a mixture of bliss and mischief in his salacious smile. "You're so cunning, Doctor. I was wondering where the smart little viper ya brought during the first session disappeared to. I thought ya had been going soft. But it's good ta know you're smart enough to know that I'm not going to willingly give up information like that up so easily."

I smirked. "I suppose. It's always worth a shot. I always have to word my questions differently with you."

"I appreciate the effort, truly," he praised.

My eyes glanced at the clock and I realized we were closing in on five minutes left until the therapy room doors would open and I would have to leave, until the next week.

"Well, we're closing in on this session, but I just remembered that I had something for you," I said, reaching into the pocket of my white lab coat over the back of my chair.

"Whatcha got for me?" He asked, his voice gravelly and low with amusement.

I pulled out the small Ziploc bag filled with the cherry cordial Hershey's Kisses. The look in his eyes and the stretching of his smile glimmered in growing delight.

"One of my favorite things about the holidays is the food. I just thought you would appreciate a little something sweet to change things up." I unwrapped a Hershey's Kiss for him.

"How thoughtful of ya, Babydoll. I'm always in the mood for something sweet."

I ignored the innuendo and rolled my chair closer to him. "Since you don't have hands..." I didn't bother to finish it. I didn't need to. There was immediate pleasure in his smile.

"Every man's wet dream," he purred. I rolled my eyes and plopped it into his mouth. His tongue rolled up to catch it, but it also brushed against my finger. The tingles that enveloped my whole body, froze me enough to give him time to close his lips around the tip of my finger. He gave it a small suck before releasing it. "Mmmmm... this hell hole is worth every second because of that, Babydoll."

I must have looked like an idiot staring at him. I thought I wasn't breathing, but it turned out my heart had been pounding so fast and so lightly I could have mistaken it for a hummingbird's wings. I quickly shook my head and zipped up the bag at the sound of low mumbling outside in the corridor, the guards getting ready to open the door to let me go home and take the Joker back to his cell. I had stuffed the bag back into my lab coat pocket just as I heard the rattling of the door handle. I gathered my things into my arms, feeling the Joker's stark gaze on me. I wasn't sure I could look at him in that moment, my mind still racing with incoherent thoughts. I stood as Dorian opened the door.

Dorian, Pedro, and another guard entered, their guns cocked, ready, and held with plain intention to use if necessary

Ever since the security camera debacle, Allen Push did not escort me to nor from the therapy room. It was usually Pedro or Josh, and another qualified security guard would briefly escort the Joker back to his room with the other. They all changed every week and it made me wonder if the security guards drew sticks in the locker rooms to see who the unlucky guard would be to escort the Joker back to his room after his therapy session.

Dorian looked like he was the one who would escort me; he marched to my side as Pedro and an unnamed guard yanked the Joker to his feet.

"Happy Holidays, Babydoll," he growled, and they pushed him towards the door.

* * *

 **There you have it! I hope it was worth the wait! The next chapter will be a doozy, and it will take a little bit to write, but there is still a way you can keep updated about what's going on! I have a Tumblr for the fanfiction now! If you go on and search for _Babydoll – Joker/OC Fanfic_ or the username _cersforestwife_ you'll be able to catch some blog posts about my playlist, Joker related things, fanfic related stuff, some updates on how the fanfic is coming, and maybe sneak peeks of upcoming chapters ;)**

 **Happy Thanksgiving to all of my American readers, and happy Wednesday night to all of my non-American readers!**

 **Please Favorite, Follow, and Review! See you lovelies later!**


	12. Chapter 11: Breakout

**Hi everyone! Phew! It's been a while. I finally have this chapter up. Warning it's long. I took a super long time to write it because of how difficult it was. I've never written a chapter like this before, so I hope it's good. You all have been super awesome and patient and I really appreciate it. Make sure to give it a Favorite and a Follow, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, reviews make the most difference when I'm writing this. Please let me know how you like, or don't, or any feedback you have (I'm pretty tough). Any and all of it is super appreciated.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter contains gun violence and gore.**

* * *

On a cold morning in mid-January, I woke up to the sky outside my icy frosted window grayer than usual. It cast dim shadows all over my room, making it seem earlier than it was. A gloomy, anxious itch tickled my brain and my gut, but I brushed it aside as I swung my legs out of bed to begin my morning routine.

The frigid air hit my skin as if I had just been thrust into a giant freezer. I snatched a fleecy blanket folded over the foot of my bed, wrapping it over my shoulders. I shuffled over to my thermostat near my front door, trying to create some friction between my feet and the ice-cube like tiled floors. Like I suspected, my thermostat read nothing but static numbers.

Tucking my legs into my blanket cocoon, I sat on my chair at my kitchen table turned thesis-writing research area and I clicked on my laptop to email the landlord about a maintenance request.

The weather app on my phone called for this day to be the coldest this season in Gotham, and I wholeheartedly believed it when I realized I could see my breath puff out in front of my face in a moist little cloud. It definitely was not the best time for my thermostat to have broken. After hitting the Send button on the maintenance request, I sat huddled in a ball on my chair for one last second of warmth before I decided to cook up a hot breakfast of blueberry cream oatmeal with cinnamon and some Lady Grey tea. Then I would defrost in a hot bath.

Despite the water taking close to 10 minutes to heat up from the frozen pipes, I was fairly able to keep from getting too cold in my apartment before I left for Arkham Asylum. I straightened up the kitchen, my living area, and my bedroom a little so that I would come home to neat, homey, and hopefully, heated space. It was such an old building I wouldn't be surprised if other apartments had lost their heating as well.

On the sidewalk, I shivered. Stepping into the frozen air, made me believe that no matter how warmly I dressed I would still be cold. I bounced on the balls of my feet while I waited for the bus. I couldn't imagine that anybody's car would work with it being below freezing. It would explain the lack of cars on the cracked streets ridden with potholes and faded traffic lines. The 10:15 GE bus coughed to a halt in front of me, just a block away from my apartment building. Even sitting on the clunking metal transportation machine nothing but questionable smelling cool air blew from the vents above me. The city desperately needed some funding towards its roads and public transportation, towards everything to be honest. I couldn't even bring myself to use the metro system. Who knew how long those trains had gone without repairs?

It made me wonder where a majority of the funds and taxes went towards. Perhaps the Gotham Police Department, since crime was higher here than anywhere else in the country. Worse than even New York City. But the fact that they needed someone like Batman around only made me think how funded the GPD was.

Arkham Asylum was a private institution. Funds and budgets came from donors and charity events. Events like the ones Bruce Wayne and other old money, systematic family owned corporations exclusively attended.

I always thought those charity balls were condescending. Waltzing around in their finest clothes and glittering jewels, the rarest whatever from whatever exotic country they came from, probably extorted from the area by abusing their workers. They threw however much money they thought would win them a cloud in heaven towards the funds of Arkham Asylum to help those poor, lost, demented souls, and the congratulate each other for being rich. And to write it off in their taxes.

They didn't truly care for the patients in Arkham. They laughed at them and feared them. They attended the charity balls to add to the cause to keep those patients off the streets with them, rather than truly helping them. Their money did help provide some of the best treatments and care in the whole country to the criminally insane that could possibly help them in the future. They provided me with a comfortable paying job, one that gave me the opportunity to study and diagnose one of the most dangerous and notorious criminals of the 21st century. No matter how much I thought those charity balls were condescending, they provided something that I couldn't completely complain about.

Arkham Asylum stood against the backdrop of the heavy clouded winter sky like an eerie Sanitarium in an black-and-white noir film. When I stepped off the bus I was surprised that when I looked down at my clothes I was still wearing my faded tan and navy plaid skirt and chunky cream cable knit fleece sweater instead of a form-fitting dress, a pill-box hat, and my hair pulled into victory rolls.

It seemed like the sky had gotten darker even though it was just a little before 11. The forecast suspected heavy freezing rain today mixed with thunder, a rare occurrence, and I had forgotten my umbrella. I had to hope it wouldn't start before I left.

I rushed to the gates that let me enter after waving at the guard with my badge, and dashed to the Visitor's Entrance, nonetheless. I heard the distant rumble of thunder as I opened the door. Beautiful heat graced my face, making it feel like a layer of ice was beginning to melt off. Bianca peeked around the Visitor's desk and smiled.

"Hello!" Her cheerful greeting warmed that uneasy feeling from me as well, one I assumed that had developed with the darkening skies.

I unwrapped my chunky scarf from my neck as I approached the desk. "Weather's going to be pretty bad today, huh?"

She nodded with widened eyes, her fingers fiddling with her locket. "Yeah, it'll be really gross. I wouldn't be surprised if the buses would be ordered to stop because of it."

I sighed and peered back out of the doors towards where I came in. "Darn it."

"I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem for you to stay here until things get back up and running. Maybe when I get off I can give you a ride back."

"If it comes to that I would greatly appreciate it," I replied thankfully. It dawned on me that I had never spent time with Bianca outside of work before. We had grown decently close as friends, as much as seeing each other once every week for several months can get you. Aside from the other female friends I spent occasional time with when they invited me out for drinks, a movie, or karaoke, I didn't spend a lot of time with other women.

I began to remove my coat, setting my new satchel, a leather Cambridge style one that was mailed in from Dad for Christmas, on the desk.

"Anything new I need to be aware of?" I asked.

Bianca nodded with a smile. "My mom is visiting from Newark. I can't wait to spend some time with her. Her bus gets in tonight and I'll pick her up."

"That's great! I hope you guys have some fun together. Did you take some time off work?"

"Yeah, it was really tough though. We have to get Lola from Accounting to come and cover for me. She was not happy about that."

I waved a dismissive hand. "She'll live. You deserve some time off with your mom."

She gave an appreciative smile and handed me my lab coat. "Have fun, well...as much fun as you can in there."

I chuckled. "Thanks."

"And we'll keep an eye on the weather in case you need to find another way to get out of here. My offer will still stand."

"Hopefully it won't be too bad," I said, peeking back at the doors.

When I turned, Pedro was standing several feet away to escort me to the elevator. It had been a while since he had escorted me himself, either Dorian, or before him, Jason, having escorted me a majority of the time. I greeted him with a smile.

"Christmas was last month, Pedro, but I accept your gift of escorting me to the therapy room."

"Dorian insisted this time. It's well-guarded," he chuckled.

Pedro was shorter than the average guy, but he was very well built. Standing next to Dorian, Pedro never seemed to be dwarfed by him.

"So everything has been pretty good with the new guy?" I asked as we stepped into the elevator.

"So far so good," he confirmed. "Joker's been a little more compliant since he's been around."

I pulled a haughty smirk. "J's intimidated by someone? I'll believe it when I see it."

"I have a hard time believing intimidated. You never know what's going on upstairs with that guy." Pedro shook his head.

He had a point there. Joker seemed like the type of person who would face any kind of threat or danger head on, especially if he thought he had a chance of beating it. If it was something that he knew he wouldn't be able to face and win, then he would hold back until he had a plan. With that thought, I suddenly became a tad worried for Dorian. While he's big and daunting, and I'm sure more dangerous than I liked to think about, Joker was cunning and intelligent. If he was being compliant, I would be worried.

I had to shake my head to get me stop thinking about such things. This was one of the most secure places in America. Even if Joker tried to pull something, he probably wouldn't get very far.

The elevator doors slid apart and I followed Pedro into the corridor. I kept up to stay beside him.

"How are these wards organized? It seems like there's no sense to them," I pondered out loud.

"Think of it like a circle," Pedro said, thinking for a second. "That's kind of how I look at it, and they teach it to us. It takes a lot of memorization. I only man this floor, but when we start they make us memorize maps and label them, and then put us out there with walkies so we can learn our way around until there's no way we can get lost in an incident."

"Wow," I breathed. "I'm not sure I'd be able to learn all of that."

"Sure you could," Pedro assured me. "It would take a while, but you'd be able to learn it all."

In that moment, the lights went down, the hum of electricity dulling in an instant like a speedy car passing by on the highway. But only most of the lights. Some of them still flickered at the ends of corridors. I halted, not being able to see that much in front of me. Pedro stepped back from me, his gun settled more into his arms, like he was getting ready to use it. Some nurses down the corridor to my left halted their work, gazing at the ceiling, their bodies stiff with fear. I made eye contact with one nurse, her eyes just barely visible in the dim light, her hair tightly pinned into a coif at the nape of her neck. She grasped the cart of needles and syringes and fresh sheets as if letting go would mean she would be swallowed into the dark void of the corridor with God knows what.

"What happened?" I choked on my words, my heart racing so fast I thought it would be impossible for me to calm it down.

"It's probably the weather, the storm must have blown a fuse or something. They'll be able to get the generator up and going any second now," Pedro calmly stated. He didn't sound too sure of himself. He was stiff and ready to do anything if he needed to. If the generator was going to be up in any second he wouldn't have been like that.

And from what I could hear, the storm hadn't started yet. We were on the top floor, if the storm had started we would have been able to hear the freezing rain clinking against the roof. Or something. I heard another rumble of thunder, closer than it had been before I entered Arkham. Maybe it _was_ from the storm?

We stood there for what seemed like a lifetime, nothing happening. The ward to my right was dark, except for a light flickering at the end of it. So was the ward to my left where tense nurses waited for a bright resolution like I did.

I heard a thud and a grunt. "Pedro-"

I twirled around. He wasn't there. He was gone. Vanished like a ghost in thin air.

My vision blurred. "Pedro?!"

I spun around to all sides to see if I could catch a glimpse of him in case he had to rush off somewhere. "What happened?!" One of the nurses down the corridor called. Even she was frozen in her spot, too afraid to leave.

"Did you see-?!" My voice cut off abruptly. I couldn't finish my sentence. I couldn't explain what had happened.

Dorian. He'd be able to help. If I came across an exit of stairs first, then I would use those. But going by the organization of the wards, I'd have been more likely to come across Dorian first. With the therapy room locked and the power off, he had to have been somewhere around here. Maybe trying to find Allen Push.

My best bet was to try to find him, the camera room, or some stairs.

"I'll be right back. Go find some stairs. Get out of here. I'm going to find one of security."

I didn't stay to find out her reaction before I took off towards the direction I thought the therapy room would be. So many weeks having been here, I had to have had some recollection of where to go.

Clutching my satchel to my chest with an arm, I took off down the hall in front of me. Reaching a T in the halls I skidded to the left and kept going.

"Dorian!" I screamed. Someone had to have heard me. The acoustics in this place were always horrifyingly good.

I heard a shriek of laughter from beside me. I gasped and almost tripped over my feet as I stumbled back against the wall away from the jolting sound, my head bouncing against it. Through a square of bars in a door, a patient gleamed at me, teeth filthy and eyes circled by tired blackness. He giggled as he stared at me.

"You scared, Doctor?"

With a whimper, I took off down the hall. Was this the right way to go? I couldn't recall. No matter which way I went, I would eventually make it to something.

"Dorian!" I screamed again.

I only took a second to decide which way I wanted to go when I came to other crossroads. I tried to stick in the outside of the of the corridors. The therapy room had a window so it couldn't be in any of the inside rooms. The further I ventured into the corridors within corridors, the further I was getting away from where I needed to go.

My Oxford shoes squealed to a halt when I picked up on a sound that made my heart sink.

 _Poppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppoppop_

Gasps from doctors, janitors, and nurses circled the halls at the sound.

Gunshots. Automatics. They were muffled, but sharp nonetheless. They were a couple of floors below me. But then they became more frequent and more started to blend together. Multiple guns. Was it any of the guards. But why would they be shooting? What were they shooting at?

Red lights flashed, an alarm pulsed a blaring scream through the floor. Clunks echoed through the corridor. I looked towards the inside of the hall where rooms baring squares of bars budged. The patients' rooms, they were locked by electric mechanisms. And something had broken. The alarms...

I had to leave now.

"Oh dear God," I heard a doctor whisper down the hall. Looking at their face, it had lost all color. Even though it was hard to see in the low light, I could tell by their haunted expression, eyes wide and their mouth agape.

Ahead of me down the hall, a door burst open with a brute force that made me jump, and others around scream in fright. I didn't wait long enough to see who it was. I took off down an inside hall, several carts of syringes and face masks and boxes of rubber gloves adorned the tiers were dodged by just barely nimble feet. No bars on the doors, one of them had to be a secure room or a utility closet. Somewhere I could hide.

The mixture of laughter and screams echoing in the halls made my heart stop.

Crashes followed, far away and even close by.

I jolted a door open, nothing inside but cleaning supplies and a locker. I didn't give another thought before I slipped inside and wrenched the door closed, turning the lock. I could only pray that it would hold. If what I thought was happening, any of these maniacal criminals could break their way into the supply closet if they had the desire to do so.

I stuffed my satchel behind a bucket and jammed myself into the locker.

I barely noticed the stale smell of sweat, and possibly something unsavory growing in the cracks and crevices. I could only focus on the noises outside of the supply closet. Cries and screams from the nurses and doctors and staff members. Laughter, deranged, disturbing cackles and gasps mixed with them into an orchestration of horror.

Something close by made me cover my mouth and cease my breathing.

A crash nearby, what sounded like the cart of supplies I passed, metal against tile, syringes rolling across the floor.

"Bahahahahahahaha!"

A croaking scream, fading in and out, mixed with choking gurgles. I was mortified that I could hear so much through the door and a locker. It made me doubt whether or not this room was still safe.

Nowhere is safe in this forsaken place.

Illegible noises, a wet crunch, more laughter.

A muffled thud shook the room.

The door. The doorknob rattled and shook, the jerks violent.

I couldn't tell what my heart was doing, but my brain was running rampant with fear and worry.

"I know someone's in here," the voice drawled like an eerie snake, a venomous one, slithering through the cracks in the door. "I can smell you cowering in there. I can't wait to sink my teeth into your flesh. I bet you taste good like the others."

My bottom lip quivered. My brain could only process what he said like it was a dream, unsure if it was real, and somewhat unintelligible.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping by doing so I would be able to block him out.

Think of something else. Anything else. Think of him leaving.

A clank.

A hum.

The room began to glow dimly.

They must have gotten the back-up generator up. But how much would it help? The patients had already been released.

A fresh alarm blared like a manic heartbeat, a red emergency light on the ceiling flashing with each ring.

" _Arkham staff_ ," a stern voice cracked over an intercom. I could recognize the voice even over the static of the speaker as Allen Push's. " _Please remain calm. A breakout has occurred. This is a Tier Three emergency. Authorities have been called and we can confirm that they are on their way. All personnel, please make your way to the Staff Emergency Center immediately using the stairwells. If you are approached by a patient, do_ _not_ _interact. Please act with regards to your own safety. Everything will be resolved shortly. Th-thank you_."

Then the connection broke. Even the intercom couldn't hide the alarm and dripping fear in his otherwise level and stern voice.

If someone as cold and hard as Allen Push was fearful, then there was real cause for panic.

The patient outside the door cackled again, responding to Allen Push's announcement. "Nowhere for you to run!"

One final bang on the door and shuffling, and the sound of something dragging on the linoleum floors that faded more with the sound of violent commotion signaled to me that he had left.

I couldn't stay in here, I didn't want to.

I could only vaguely remember where the Staff Emergency Center was when I was given a general tour of the Asylum before my first day on the job. It was on the first level of the basement. A badge was needed to gain access to the floor from both the stairs and the elevators, and then again to enter the room. I just needed to leave this supply room. It wasn't safe anymore. The door would only take so much and any locked door would intrigue a dangerous patient.

I stepped out of the locker and checked to make sure I had my badge in a secure and accessible location in my lab coat.

I hesitated to grab the doorknob. From what I could hear, the panic seemed only to have escalated.

Cracks, screams, laughs, crashes, running footsteps... All of it much louder and more frequent. It was like a scene out of a nightmare or a thriller movie.

But I needed to make a run for it. I wouldn't be safe anywhere unless I was in the Emergency Center.

Without a second thought, I unlocked the door and burst out of it, my eyes darting around me to quickly investigate my surroundings and any immediate threats.

I took off in a run in a direction, and rounded a corner, almost tripping over something firm on the ground. I hopped on a foot to catch myself, but suddenly found myself releasing a curdled scream from my throat.

It was a nurse. Blood coated the collar of her uniform, and my gazed followed it up her neck to behold a syringe stabbed into her eye. Her head had lulled to the side, exposing a gaping hole where her ear was supposed to be. I didn't need to feel her pulse to know if she was dead.

I had to keep going, so I did. My scream would have caught someone's attention.

I sprinted around another corner, searching frantically for the glowing Exit signs leading towards a stairwell.

Why did everything have to be so difficult in here? How could this building have been up to code?

Rounding another corner, my shoes squeaked to a stop. Huddled in the middle of the corridor was a patient, wrapped tightly in a straitjacket, discolored from age and God knew what else. His shaved head showcased a dark fuzz over some fresh scars. He was giggling, or crying, or maybe both. Mixed with the sound of distant screams and hollers and the sharp alarm it was hard to tell.

But I heard a crack in his neck when he twitched to look at me. Missing teeth spotted his grin.

He squirmed in his straitjacket, his watery eyes glistening with an unknown deviance in the flashing red lights that made my stomach churn.

My instincts told me to not do anything drastic, not to make any sudden movements, like I was facing a temperamental, hungry leopard. My brain was running so wild I wasn't sure if I could trust my body to follow those instincts. I used to think that the fight and flight instincts were subjective, but this was one moment where my flight instincts wanted to go into full swing.

He leaped to his feet, and my chest convulsed from a sudden gasp.

I bolted out of the corridor. I didn't need to look back to know that he was chasing me, his short, panting-like laughs threatening to catch up to me.

In those rapid moments, I couldn't tell if I heard everything or nothing around me. But one I heard for sure was my heart pounding against my rib cage like a heavy drum playing a musical composition set in prestissimo.

The tears flowed from my eyes in disbelief at what had become my nightmarish reality.

I snagged a syringe from a cart in my path before shoving it behind me, hoping to divert him. I squeezed it so hard I thought I was going to break it.

I almost crashed into another doctor crossing a four-way intersection in the halls, but I twisted my body, dancing around him. I had barely missed a run-in with his chaser, a female patient hissing and cackling as she sprinted after him, and paying me no mind.

It only reminded me of the screams, the alarm blares, the disturbing laughs in the halls.

 _Popopopopopopopopopopopopopopopopopopopop!_

The sharp and rapid succession of automatic gunshots. They had made it onto this floor.

"Oh my God," I choked, not realizing that the sound had stopped me in my tracks.

And I regretted it the moment I did realize it.

The movement out of the corner of my eye cued me to spin around with my arms and the syringe ready to strike if I had to.

The patient stood several feet from me, bony legs bent, and arms squirming in his straitjacket; almost too freely.

Somewhere in the back of my mind was a cold and frightening truth, that I liked to pretend didn't exist, and that was the fact that Arkham Asylum housed and treated the criminally insane. But not only psychotic serial killers, but those with disturbing and unusual strength and traits of villainous proportions.

My eyes couldn't have gotten any wider as soon as I heard the low, gut-wrenching tear of duck cloth and leather. His twisted, black grin widened as he disentangled his arms from the tightly drawn sleeves. Fear locked my eyes onto him, knowing that if I turned away to run, he would certainly catch me.

Nonetheless, I decided to take that risk. I turned and ran, and his padded footsteps followed closely behind.

The end of the corridor drew near, but I saw no sign that showed there were others to turn into. The only thing that greeted me when I got to the dead end was a pair of water fountains. I backed into the wall, facing my pursuer as he crept towards me.

Drool slid from his lips onto the linoleum floors, and I could only imagine what he had in mind.

By his stance, I knew that at any moment he would pounce, and that with the measly syringe I could only hold him off for so long. I would have to use other means, nails, teeth, my feet, whatever I could use to fight him. I didn't even know if I was ready to do it.

 _Popopopopopopopopopopopopopopopopopop!_

A scream escaped my lungs and my ears rang with a high pitched squeal. My would-be assailant lurched as holes of blood exploded from his chest. I ducked down and covered my head, only peeking out to see the patient's body fall to the floor. Standing behind him was a man who took me a second to process.

The noise that came from me was a mixture of a sob and a sigh.

"Dorian!"

I tripped forward into his arms, dropping the syringe, and feeling the desperate need to be held by a familiar face.

"Come on," he said, "I'll get you somewhere safe."

I trailed behind him like a shadow. More gunshots were heard throughout the floor, and he would throw out an arm to me to stop me when he thought it was too dangerous. Patients and doctors scurried by, and Dorian fought our way through the halls. I couldn't keep my thoughts still.

"Dorian, what's going on?" I managed to snatch his padded arm.

"A breakout. There are masked shooters running rampant in the wards."

"But why? Who?"

"There's no time for questions!" He snapped. I knew it must have been for safety and time, but something in his voice made him sound hostile, nothing like the Dorian I knew prior to this.

We waited near a corner while he peered around it, supposedly searching for any of the shooters he mentioned.

"We need to get to the Staff Emergency Center," I said. "The first level of the basement. We need to get to some stairs."

"I know where I need to take you." The way he said was low and slow. It didn't sound right coming from him, it didn't sound right coming from someone who knew where he needed to take me as per regulation. I wanted to tug on his padded sleeve to get some confirmation of where we needed to go, some affirmation that he would get us there whole, but my shaking hand refused to move.

My eyes fell on his gun. It wasn't the normal one he had. His normal weapon was a military issued weapon. This one... well, I didn't know much about guns, but this one he held bore more of a resemblance to a gun you would find in the hands of a criminal. Large, convenient, and machine-like.

Something dropped in my stomach, and it didn't sit well there.

My eyes shifted to my surroundings. I recognized them. If my memory served me correctly, we were near my usual therapy room where I treated the Joker. And I knew for a fact, that it wasn't near any stairs.

"D-Dorian, where are we going?" My voice had lowered to something cautious.

"I told you, somewhere safe." He didn't face me to answer, but his tone emanated something dark. I knew he was a big intimidating guy, but he had always been so calm and kind. The Dorian in front of me seemed like a different person.

I only had a few seconds to make a split decision, so I did.

"Dorian!"

I slipped my white lab coat down my back, gripped it by the hem, and flung it over his head as soon as he turned to address me.

He scrambled to untangle it while I slipped past him unseen and into a different hallway.

I sprinted and ran into the walls as I rounded sharp corners, but I sprang back and kept going, passing limp bodies of poor victims, and the hunched over and rocking patients too fragile to cope with the overwhelming noises, lights, and movements.

My chest griped with sharp pain just as I saw a glowing red sign hanging from the ceiling with an arrow pointing left. An Exit Sign.

Stairs!

My shoes squeaked as I skid to a stop in front of the emergency exit to the stairwell. I assaulted the door open, it's roaring crash against the wall thundered over the sirens and footsteps and cries of other staff trying to escape.

I flew down the steps, skipping as many as four at a time. My feet scurried one after the other at a speed I didn't think I would be able to stop once I got to my destination.

Then, ringing gunshots reverberated through the stairwell.

I dared to look up as soon as I made it to the fourth floor landing.

As much as I didn't want it to be what I thought it would be, sure enough Dorian, followed by another man dressed in a panda suit, peered back at me over the rail. Upon spotting me, they began jumping steps to get to me.

I bolted down another flight of stairs, knowing that they would catch up to me in no time. I had to evade them and find another way down. So once I got to the third floor landing, I forced my way into the corridors.

I had never had to go to the third floor, but I knew it was used primarily for operations on patients. The rooms were prime for viewing, almost every one had large clear windows spanning the room so that other doctors, even medical and psychology students could study the procedure. I always thought it was barbaric, the patients being treated as scientific anomalies and spectacles rather than actual people. But my opinion meant so little, and since it was a private institution, it would never mean anything.

Charging into the first one I saw, I did my best not to make too much of a mess, or make anything look too out of place, well, as much as it already was. Everything in this operation room was in disarray. It was evident there had been a skirmish, possibly with a patient who was being operated on. I saw no outcome to the skirmish so I hid in the supply room in the back among the sinks and sterile shelves of surgical tools. I had just closed the door to a sliver and ducked down when my pursuers crashed through the stairwell door.

I could barely see them, let alone hear them. I saw movement creep past the windows of the operating room. My breathing was low and deep. It would take more than just pills and meditation to calm myself down from this whole nightmare once I finally got to safety.

I waited a couple of minutes before pushing the door open slowly. Peeking out through the opening, I saw no masked man nor Dorian, or even people in the room or halls. I crouched low as I made my way across the operation room, trying to keep myself hidden from the sight of the windows. Temporary freedom was in sight, just through the open door and then through the Exit to the stairwell.

Reaching the first door into the hall, I checked all directions. The lights were still dull, and I couldn't see to the end of the corridors that threatened to be hiding a predator unless the red alarm lights flashed.

It was now or never.

I blitzed to the stairwell door and took off down the remaining flights of stairs, my heart racing each step of the way. I listened for the crashing of a door again as an indicator that they were on my tail once more.

But I didn't hear one. Nor did I hear any more gunshots.

The landing of the first level of the basement was finally beneath my feet, just as a few staff members were making their way through the door, safely locked with a scanner for a badge. I caught the door just before it closed, watching the personnel members fly to the end of the hall and turn right.

My heart began to lighten, knowing that safety was so close.

The first level of the basement had alarm lights that didn't flash. They just held the red color, making the walls and bulletin boards and doors look like they were painted red. I made sure the door I came through was closed tightly, and I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. I coughed as I picked my feet back up and made my way down the end of the hall and to the right.

Red and white striped tape bordered the iron door entrance. It didn't need a sign for personnel to know that it was the Staff Emergency Center.

I couldn't help the small relieved smile that spread across my face when I saw it ran to the badge reader.

My hand reached up to my left breast, but only felt cable knit sweater.

My badge.

 _My badge._

My hands roamed my body frantically.

I always kept my badge clipped to my...lab coat.

My mind raced.

How would I get in?

I needed to get inside!

Without thinking, my fists pounded on the iron door. "Please! Let me in! I need to get in! Help, please!"

My hands smacked against them, trying to make as much noise as possible. Someone had to have heard me.

Why wouldn't they let me in?

I held my pulsing head in my hands, searching the area for something, anything, that would help me.

I couldn't get into the Staff Emergency Center. The only other place I could think of that would be safe was...outside.

And yet it was possible it could not be safe. It was possible that patients could have gotten free and made it to the yard outside.

It was better than staying in the Asylum. Especially while those masked men were after me. Yes, this floor was secured by badge readers, but anything with enough force could break and override that system.

Outside was the only shot I had.

I turned and headed back.

I passed the stairwell entrance I came from, knowing full well that my masked pursuers could be there, and navigated through the other halls and corridors.

The red hue of the floor only made it more terrifying, a shade darker and it would have resembled the color of the blood. Something I already saw too much of that day.

I walked with some haste, trying to focus on finding the other stairwell, or even a door or window leading to the outside.

If I was lucky made I would run into someone who had a badge and could get us both into the Staff Emergency Center.

But it was so quiet. I could hear the faint sound of the alarm from the floor above. It wasn't blaring on this floor for some reason. And it only made the atmosphere of this basement level seem too quiet.

The kind of quiet that made you feel like something was terribly, _terribly_ wrong.

I didn't want to find out what that thing was, so I picked up my pace into quick jog, my energy and the adrenaline wearing thin.

I came at a crossroads in the halls. Three directions to go.

They each led into halls that were lit so dimly that they faded into black, with the tiniest hint of red at the end of them. Only one hall had a pulsing alarm light, flashing red in the darkness. There must have been a slight miscount during the renovations of this ward, not having enough of the constant lights and one too many of the flashing ones.

I stood in the center, unsure which way to go, knowing full well that taking the wrong direction would set me back in my search through this maze. But I didn't want to take too long deciding.

A sudden shriek rang through the corridors, freezing my feet to the ground.

"No, please!"

"Where ya headed off to?" The growl in the voice was so clearly distinctive, even someone who didn't know would have been able to guess who it was. It was so clear who it was that it stopped my heart.

I managed to free my feet and hide around the corner of one the halls in the three-way, realizing that the voices and squeaking footsteps were coming closer.

I brought myself to peek around the corner, and I knew that every centimeter I moved my head closer to the corner was one centimeter closer to being discovered.

In the corridor, two dark figures lunged down the hall towards me. But the one behind the pursued was caught in a few quick strides. The hand of the chaser caught the shoulder and slammed him down into the linoleum, a sudden crack and a scream erupting from the victim. Going from the situation alone, the poor doctor must have been seen at the wrong time, leaving him to be caught in this horrific fate.

The tall and powerful shape standing above the doctor carried something long and solid in their other hand, like a metal pipe. But no, judging by the thin handle and slight widening as it elongated from his grip, it was shaped more like a baseball bat.

Even though I knew what was going to happen, I couldn't bring myself to close my eyes or look away. It was like something in me wanted to see it happen.

"Please!" The doctor wailed, and in a flash I couldn't help but wonder what his family was like, who and what he pleaded for life for. It brought a single tear to my eye just in that one moment of wondering.

And there it was...

" _Ha ha ha..._ "

That laugh.

I should have turned and ran the second I heard it, even if everything before hadn't been a clear indication to me as to who it was.

And the bat came down with a crunch. The wailing continued, mixed with gurgles of blood flooding into his throat.

One after the other, the swings were endless in their assault onto the doctor until the wails had faded into nothing.

I hadn't realized it, it was as though my feet and my brain were two separate entities in my body, but I found myself in the middle of the hall, open in the most plain sight.

And that moment when I realized it was when the slight movement of the shadow caught me standing there.

I wasn't breathing.

No air escaped my lungs. I stood frozen on the spot.

Half of my being screamed at me to run away, on my life run.

But then the other half...

 _He's right there, don't you want to know what he'll say or do to you? You won't be disappointed, curiosity may have killed the cat...but oh would it be worth it this time._

I focused my eyes on the dark long thin shape. It's curves and edges became more defined with every flashing red light.

The arms lifted, dropping the baseball bat with a clunk on the floor, and my insides throbbed. A lump caught in my throat.

They were opened wide, and then the silhouette took a step forward. The lump in my throat grew.

The steps forward were careful, slow, calculated.

"Well well well..." The words were milked to sing in my ears from down the hall.

"Fancy findin' you here...Babydoll."

That single tear escaped from my eye.

I tried to move my feet, but they were still cemented to the floor. The only thing I could move were my lips, but no sound would come out, and I only mouthed words of prayer and mercy.

I couldn't do this anymore. I wanted to just pass out, and wake up somewhere else, perhaps in a new life, like none of this had never happened. Why couldn't that have been possible? Especially in this moment?

"So much work just to get us standing right here, with nothing between us," he continued.

Using all of my strength, I managed to move one foot back.

"You know," he stated, "All the while plannin' this whole breakout, I didn't give a fuck as to who lived or died. Except one little person."

Another tear rolled down my cheek, my mind flashing with all of the dead and mutilated people I had encountered up to that point.

"Out of everyone in this shit hole, you were the only one I thought was worth keepin' alive. It's quite the compliment, Babydoll, not many hold the honor _ha ha ha ha_."

My other foot finally freed itself, and took a step back.

He kept progressing forward, more and more details of his solid body coming into view.

The tension was a wall between us, one he had the control of bulldozing little by little while I stood helpless on the other side until he got to me.

I knew it was him. The moment I realized something wasn't right with Dorian was the moment I knew that this whole breakout was constructed by the criminal mastermind himself. I just didn't want to admit it, or have to face the reality that the Joker was free once more and out for blood. And possibly for something else.

"Nothin' ta say?" He cooed. I didn't need to see his face, then covered in shadows, to know that he was smiling at me. He was always smiling at me. In that moment, I couldn't remember a time when he hadn't.

 _You dumb whore..._

"Well, just wait, doll."

I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, the features on his face were becoming more visible in the flashing light.

He had me right where he wanted me. With all of my frazzled thoughts, I couldn't even begin to fathom what he would have done to me.

And I didn't want to.

With the final rush of adrenaline and energy I could muster, I took off without a word down the opposite hall, his chilling laugh rattling behind me. When I peeked behind me before turning a corner, he was bending backwards, his hands resting on his forehead like this was all the most entertaining show he had ever witnessed.

I came upon the other stairwell, plunging into it and climbing the stairs as fast as I could to get back up to the ground floor. No, ID was needed for that floor, and I found myself surrounded by the offices of a side hall I had passed more times than I could count. All of their doors were ajar and chairs were toppled over and papers and office supplies were scattered on the desks and floors. The rush to the Emergency Center had been immediate, everyone dropping everything they had to make it to safety before they could witness anything horrid themselves.

But some had not completely made it.

There was a body, here and there, sprawled on the floor, blood peeking from underneath their dead bodies, bullet holes scattered over them and the walls.

This was where the gunmen had entered. Of course, what better way to enter the building than through the front door? Bullet holes and splatters of blood were sprayed everywhere there on the first floor and lobby.

I was just lucky there wasn't a gunmen down there... that I knew of. And I didn't want to find out if there was.

I was sprinting towards the automatic doors, broken outward from successful attempts to get out of the building rather than risk being approached by a gunman or a patient. Nonetheless, it was smart to wait for the police outside where they would be able to provide immediate safety rather than wait inside locked up not knowing when deliverance would arrive.

I approached the front desk, wondering if I would catch a sign that Bianca had managed to escape to the Emergency Center or outside, or even hide.

But I was met by her cold lifeless body draped over the desk on her side. Her eyes wide open and staring blankly, but with the smallest hint of horror, at the exit doors. Her locket was tangled around her neck, and her perfectly coiled hair was strewn about her lovely face in messy strands.

I stopped only to scream when I saw her, almost crippling over to the ground in agony.

But I caught myself with a hand on the floor and forced myself to keep going through the doors leading to the sweet outside world.

When I pushed through the final doors, I saw hope on the other side of the green courtyard. Flashing lights of red and blue and gathered figures around the gate. The sky roared above me with thunder and helicopter blades. I hardly noticed the freezing rain flood down onto me and soaking me through to the skin in almost an instant.

Figures and movement on the other side of the gate. GPD...thank God!

"Help!" I screamed as I trudged through the courtyard, my body and legs starting to fail me with exhaustion.

The officers moved aside and then came rushing towards me with guns lowered, assessing the surroundings and if I had anyone following me.

"Please..." I tried to muster from my throat, but even that was failing me from weariness.

"Woodward!" A voice called.

I saw a man rush through the hoard of police officers with an umbrella over his head. Dr. Carlson!

I was shielded by the umbrella in an instant and an arm was placed around me to hold me up. We were crowded by officers escorting us out of the courtyard and into the parking lot where news vans, reporters, and onlookers crowded around to see if they could get a glimpse of anything interesting going on, which included me. They gathered around, thrusting microphones and cameras in my face, all being pushed away aggressively by Dr. Carlson and the officers.

The wetness on my face, I couldn't tell if it was the rain or my tears; it was probably from both.

I was led to a police car, stuffed in the back with Dr. Carlson who handed off his umbrella to someone.

The police car was quiet when the door closed, the shouts from the outside muffled. I was in too much of a haze to pay attention to what they were saying. The old car...I was finally able to breathe when I got inside, even if what I was inhaling was the stale scent of age and coffee. For the first time since everything started, I felt safe.

I rested my head against the door beside me and brought my legs up to my chest and to rest on the seat. I hugged them like they were precious to me, and I never wanted to let them go. My mind cleared slowly into a translucent fog.

"Take her home," I heard Dr. Carlson say to the officers up front in the driver and passenger seats. In an instant the car jerked to roll away from Arkham. "You're okay now, Woodward. Just rest."

As soon as he said that, my gut and heart cleared as well.

And I felt nothing.

* * *

 **And there you have it :) I'd love to thank every one of you for being so patient. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. I'd like to give special reader shoutouts to: Crazyathart, SpiritWolf, SmellyJelly, and LouisianaSiren96. Thanks for your support and you leave the best reviews!**

 **Please remember to Favorite, Follow, and Review if you enjoyed it!**

 **Keep on the look out for the next chapter!**


	13. Chapter 12: Listen

**Hi all! Long time no...read? Lol. Thank you for being so patient! I needed to take a break from this fanfic for a couple of months while I got my sanity in order (literally). If you want to know what I've been working on in the meantime, and if you like Les Miserables, please check out my EnjolrasxOC fanfic Sometimes I'm Wrong.**

 **Anyways, this is the last Past Arc chapter! We are now full circle and are moving on to the Present Arc permanently! Please FAVORITE, FOLLOW, and most importantly REVIEW if you like what you read!**

 **Thanks!**

* * *

 _Past_

Standing in the doorway of my apartment harbored the similar feeling of being in a school parking lot in the middle of June at 3 am on a Monday morning. Empty, dead, like something wasn't quite right. And above all, quiet.

The deafening silence of the tidy apartment contrasted that of what I had just experienced an hour ago.

It didn't even seem like it was my apartment. A couple hours ago it would have been the perfect complement to Emily Woodward, introverted and ambitious Ph.D. student.

But the girl standing there, soaked to the bone from just a few moments in frozen rain didn't feel like Emily Woodward. Something was different about her. If you had taken her to the keyboard, she wouldn't have lifted a finger to plunk down a note. Or if you had placed her in the kitchen, she wouldn't have jumped at the opportunity to put on a pot of water for tea.

This Emily Woodward who stood in my blood and mud streaked Oxford shoes only stared with glazed eyes at the window on the other side of the room just above the radiator. The curtains had been pulled open that morning to allow some form of light into the apartment, but it only dimmed the golden glow from the overhead lamps while frozen rain drops tapped against the glass.

The internal heating system hummed to a start, filling the freezing room with long-needed warmth. It felt foreign, and unexpected, like I couldn't remember being warm accompanied with the sense of feeling safe.

Safe...

Without realizing it, I was already in my bedroom ripping off my clothes until I was in nothing but my skin. Next I wrangled my fingers through my hair, pulling at the loosened and stringy braids until a pile of bobby pins lay scattered at my feet and my damp caramel waves hung limp over my bare shoulders. I wrapped my arms around me, still feeling the heavy iciness clinging to me. My mind was its own being, and I had no control over it; what it made me see, comprehend, feel, do.

I needed to snap out of it, regain myself.

I rushed to my bathroom and clutched the knob of the bathtub and turned it all the way to a scorching hot temperature.

No thought was needed to step into the tub once the water steamed against the drug cabinet mirror above the sink, and pull the curtains closed. Turning on the shower, the blistering rain hit my body like a hellish waterfall. I allowed myself to slump to the floor of the tub and wrap my arms around my knees.

Next thing I knew, I couldn't tell if the water falling down my heated face from my burning eyes were tears or the water from the shower head.

What...What do I do now?

There was no immediate response I could come up with.

Everything...everything I had just witnessed...

Everything I had come to know and call routine in that building had been uprooted in a matter of hours, ripped from the ground like a nasty weed. My chest heaved as it gasped for weepy breaths, and I slid my hand to my forehead. Closing my eyes, flashes of red lights, black corridors, and men in masks sprung out at me. I shook my head violently, trying to clear it, but bodies filled the space next. Broken, battered, bloody bodies. Mutilated, murdered in cold blood.

I sobbed. People I had come to know, if not their names or personalities, I knew their faces. Friendly if not constantly busy or slightly disturbed. Some hardened to the conditions of their work, but nonetheless dedicated. People I admired for that dedication. And I considered myself one of them. And I was one of the few, maybe, to have made it out alive.

I tried to comfort myself with the thought that staff members had made it down to the Staff Emergency Center, people had survived. But I couldn't shake the body count that had tallied itself up in my head. Ending with Bianca splayed across her desk, her bronze skin paler than I had ever seen it, her golden locket dipped in a pool of her own blood leaking from her temple, not a single flicker of her usual warmth in her brown eyes. My mind raced to our last conversation. Her poor mother, waiting at a bus stop somewhere in the middle of Gotham by now, wondering where her daughter was; probably having texted her 100 times, sat down at a seedy cafe somewhere and looked up at the television screen above the bar and seeing the Asylum shaking on the screen, the headline displaying words like 'Murderous Breakout at Asylum' that would have sunk her heart.

I sobbed harder thinking about it. So many lives taken too quickly.

I let out an eardrum piercing scream, my hands covering my ears. I sat there like a blubbering fool, my body erupting into a fit of shakes and convulsions.

Out, I wanted them out! I needed these images out of my head!

The heel of my palm smacked against my temple.

"Get out, get out, GET OUT!" I shrieked. My body leaned over so I could lie on my side while I cried everything out.

The shower continued to pour water on me until it turned cold, the length of my stay remaining unknown to me as I remained curled in a ball on the floor of the tub. I had allowed the tears and agony pour out of me until there was nothing. My body and mind had turned numb; numb to feeling and pain and the visions that continued behind closed eyes.

When finally I was able to sit up, my own limbs feeling as though they didn't belong to me, I brought myself to my feet and started my normal shower routine, grabbing for my shampoo.

The rest of the cold shower passed in a blur and soon I was turning off the water and stepping onto the fluffy rug at the base. Wrapping a towel around me, I stood in front of the chipped porcelain sink and swiped my hand over the sweating mirror.

The girl who looked back at me was someone I didn't recognize. Unfeeling, gray eyes gazed back at me, dark slick strands of hair curling around my cheekbones and glued to my chest with water, face stone and pale, small heart-shaped lips pink with moisture. I looked like a doll. One of those pretty porcelain things you would find in frills and lace at an antique store. Mindless, and in some ways, creepy. I couldn't decide if I liked what I saw.

A smooth deep voice slithered into my memory, laughing and cooing.

 _Babydoll..._

My hand reached for my forehead. I shook my head, trying to rid it of the voice that echoed and taunted me. It faded, and when it was finally gone, I braved a glance back into the mirror. I drew my lips into a tight line and grabbed my comb before turning out of the bathroom into my bedroom.

* * *

I had dressed myself into some fleece pajama pants and a lacy camisole with a lounging robe draped over me and tied at the waist by the time I heard a knock on the door. I froze in my action, a full pot of water hovering over the gas stove. My mind raced for a second before I set it down and turned the knob on the stove, clicking the fire into existence, and headed over to the door. I crossed my arms and peeked through the peep hole. Dr. Carlson, and another familiar face stood on the other side of the door, including three men behind them dressed in dark suits and sunglasses.

I let out a sigh of relief before unlatching the locks on my door and opening it a crack.

Dr. Carlson peeked through it at me, the lines in his face deep set with worry. I opened the door wider and was faced with the presence of Amanda Waller. My brows knit in concern, not having seen her since I first started at Arkham back in the fall. And then it hit me, of course she was here.

"Miss Woodward," she greeted me, her voice unfeeling. "May we come in?"

I nodded, opening the door wider and stepping aside for her, Dr. Carlson, and the other men to enter my little apartment. I wasn't even sure I had enough sitting space to seat all of them comfortably.

I kept my arms crossed over me, realizing I wasn't really dressed to receive government and professor company. But they didn't seem to care, in fact, Dr. Carlson seemed somewhat relieved to see me looking so normal and calm compared to how he found me coming out of the Asylum.

"Erm, please, sit down anywhere you like," I said, trying to bring my voice above a murmur. The suited men, agents I assumed, wandered around the apartment, checking each room and corner. Amanda Waller herself allowed her eyes to explore my shabby apartment from where she stood, studying it.

"Hm." Waller raised her eyebrows looking into the living room. She took the armchair across from the couch closest to the kitchen. I let the agents continue their explore the apartment, while Dr. Carlson and I took our seats on the couch.

When the agents finished, they took their places scattered around the apartment. One planted himself near the front door, one in the doorway to the bedroom, and the last behind Waller. Having settled, Amanda Waller clasped her hands together and leaned back into the armchair.

"How are you doing, Miss Woodward?" She asked firstly.

I was taken aback by her question. I had half expected her to cut straight to the chase, why she and Dr. Carlson were there.

I blinked. "Um, better than I was." That was all I could think to see. I didn't really have a clear idea about how was I feeling about everything now that I had calmed down.

Waller's face didn't change. "I can't imagine what it must have been like in the Asylum during the outbreak. To be honest, I'm surprised you even made it outside in one piece."

 _You and I both_ , I thought to myself.

"Woodward," Dr. Carlson added, "why didn't you go down to the Staff Emergency Center like what was required?" He must have seen the look on my face the moment he said it. My body was suddenly filled with the fear that I was going to be apprehended for not following protocol. I had trouble forming the words in my head to explain why I couldn't have gone to the Staff Emergency Center. He held his hands up. "What I mean to ask is, what happened in there? Give us a play by play about what happened. If you can, of course."

Everything raced so quickly in my mind that it blurred past the point of recognition. I could remember every gruesome, horrifying detail as if it were happening again right there, but I struggled to to put the words into my mouth. I closed my eyes and shook my head, the kettle finally squealing on the stove. It turned off suddenly. Opening my eyes, I saw Waller pouring hot water into the mug I had set out with a bag of jasmine green tea already plunged into it.

She handed it to me, careful not let the piping hot water spill. I nodded in thanks before she turned her back to sit down in the armchair again.

Letting the steam rise onto my face, the heat calmed my senses. I swallowed. "I was on the sixth floor headed to the therapy room with Pedro when it happened. I don't know what happened to him. I tried to find Dorian, but-"

"He had been compromised," Waller finished for me. The statement didn't sit well with me in my stomach. Yes, the plan had been the Joker's, but...had Dorian been in on it the whole time, or was he just another victim of the Joker's persuasion? It was too much for to think about right then.

I shook my head to regain my thoughts. "He was...trying to take me to the Joker. I got away and tried to get down to the Staff Emergency Center, but..." My eyes watered remembering my panic when I had reached the metal doors. "I'd lost my badge trying to get down there."

Dr. Carlson put a gentle hand on my shoulder. I sniffed back the tears. My mind played the next parts like an old film; shaky, spotted, and without color, except for the color red. Everything was red.

My breath hitched in my throat. Dr. Carlson leaned in to try to see what was wrong. "Woodward?"

"He was there..." It came out as a whisper. Dr. Carlson and Waller didn't say a word, but I could feel the tension in the room rise. My hands gripped my mug, the porcelain blistering against my skin. It was all I could do as I stared at the coffee table in front of me. "He was there in the basement. He saw me. H-he told me...that I was the only one he cared about keeping alive. I ran away and found the staircase that led up to the lobby. That's how I got out. He let me. He didn't come after me at all. I don't know if that's more horrifying than if he had."

The room remained silent. That whole situation replayed over and over in my mind, going over every possible scenario that could have happened. If he had gone after me, would he have caught me? There was no doubt in my mind that he would have. And then what? My eyelids fluttered shut, and I let out a staggered breath. I was met with the corridor painted with scarlet light, the stifling air thin from air purifiers and vents from being beneath ground level. My heart picked up in pace, and when I looked down I was wearing my cream cable knit sweater again. When my eyes wandered up, the Joker was there.

Without thinking, I turned and sprinted. But with only a handful of steps under my feet, a body slammed against me a thrust me towards the wall. Paralyzed by fear, my body was caged in by ghostly pale arms, thick with lean muscle, and etched with tattoos. Bodies too close together for heat not to be shared, and his face towering inches above mine.

My eyes burst open before my mind allowed the scene to move further.

"Woodward!" Dr. Carlson cried, his hands grasping the mug from mine and placing it on the coffee table.

My breath released from my throat. My palms and fingers were bright red from first degree burns. They stung, and burned at the joints as I tried to curl my fingers into a fist. I hissed at the attempt.

"Dr. Woodward," Waller started. She leaned forward, and stared until we held eye contact. "What has happened can now be considered a national emergency. The Joker has escaped Arkham Asylum, and is at large. The most dangerous criminal in the country. Now, we are here because of your importance to him."

I furrowed my brows and looked between her and Dr. Carlson. The expression on Dr. Carlson's face worried me. It was the face of a man who felt nothing but pity for what he knew was inevitable.

"What?"

"What you just told us only verifies our suspicions. You are a person of interest to the Joker. With the Joker on the rise you are now in grave danger. If the Joker gets a hold of you, there's no knowing what will happen. You have a small understanding of the inner workings of the Psychology Department at Gotham University that spearheaded his time in the Asylum, along with some information on the inside of the Asylum itself. We kept you in the dark for many things in the event of this happening, just to be on the safe side. But now that it's actually happened...well we have to prepare for the worst," Amanda Waller explained.

A ringing had started in my ears as I stared at her. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. They...took precautions in case this exact thing happened? How could they have possibly predicted that?

"I...don't..." I stuttered.

"Woodward," Dr. Carlson put in, "you knew this was a risk when you took the job. The Joker is dangerously influential and if you fall in his hands...anything you know and have access to is at stake. Now, we know that you've been a very competent therapist and have been doing an excellent job so far with handling him. It's impressive to say the least. But now that he's out of a controlled environment, anything can happen. Everything happens on his terms when he's out in the real world, and that's when he's most dangerous."

My breathing was shallow and hitched in my throat. That was what I was now, a liability. Everything, the Asylum, the Psychology Department, could be unhinged if the Joker got his hands on me. And that's what they cared about.

"It's not just the information we're worried about," Dr. Carlson added quickly. "But you too. If you fall into his hands, there's no knowing what would happen to you concerning your safety. He's unpredictable, anything you say or do could be the one thing that sets him off. It could turn you from a person of interest into his next victim. We want to make sure that doesn't happen." He gestured toward Amanda Waller across from us, who sat there, her face hard.

I tried to process everything he was telling me. I shook my head. "What are you saying, Dr. Carlson?"

Amanda Waller leaned back in her chair, drawing my attention. "We need to get you out of Gotham, Miss Woodward."

"It's not safe here anymore," Dr. Carlson added. "Not with the Joker on the loose again, and possibly trying to look for you."

Looking for me...On the loose...looking for...

I cupped my hands in front of my face, propping my elbows up on my knees.

 _He let you go._

 _He didn't come after you._

 _Why?_

Because he knew he would have the time to come back and find me.

My heart raced again, the panic rising from the pit of my stomach upwards into my throat.

 _Don't._

 _This isn't the time. Listen to them. Listen to what they have to say._

I let out a steady breath, straightened myself and clenched my jaw before looking at Amanda Waller. "I'll do what I need to. When do I need to be out of the city?"

She raised an eyebrow. "How fast can you get packed?"

* * *

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	14. Chapter 13: Gotham

**Hi everyone! It's… been a while.**

 **…**

 **I'm sorry. There's been a lot going on. And I got scared to tackle this chapter after I realized that there aren't any more past chapters left to write. So there was some writer's block there. But as of late, and with a little encouragement from the loved ones who know how much I really love this fanfic (and actually know that I write this), I was able to look through all of the beautiful comments you all have left me that really convinced me that people really do like this fanfiction and you all have waited LONG ENOUGH!**

 **My goal this year is to update more frequently. I don't know what that means, but I think you all deserve more than two chapters in a year (unlike 2018 I realized).**

 **So please enjoy this chapter! Please FAVORITE, FOLLOW, and REVIEW to let me know what you all think!**

 **Thanks guys!**

* * *

 _Present_

Sleep lifted from me. The weight elevated off my body like I was returning back to life, fresh air filling my pressed lungs. My breathing had been so shallow and light during my deep sleep that by the time my eyes fluttered opened I wondered if I had been breathing at all.

My body dragged through sluggish movements in the dark room. The only sliver of light my eyes could pick up was a soft golden glow from beneath the door a considerable distance from the bed. My limbs were heavy, and my torso was pinned down by the excessive heat and density of my fleece coat. I fiddled with the buttons fastening it to my person, until I managed the coat open. Air flushed my body, allowing me to release a sigh at the refreshing feeling.

I sat up, slipping my arms out of the peacoat and becoming aware of the thin layer of sweat that covered my torso. My hands ran across the cool silk duvet until they found the edge, and I ran them along it while my fingers stretched into the air. They hit hard wood next to the head of the bed. They floated above it for a second until they found the cylindrical cloth of a lampshade. Pushing the switch under the light bulb the room illuminated to life before my eyes.

It was a simple yet luxurious bedroom, massive in size, every detail from the design of the furniture to the gray color of the walls to the silvery chrome molding on the door frames radiating with smart sleekness. I didn't think I had ever been in something so chic in my life, not even a hotel room.

My leather suitcases had been placed neatly in a corner of the room nearest a closed door a good fifteen feet away. I slid off the bed. The moment my feet touched the floor my head swam and I had to stop myself to hold it still.

Still recovering... Can't move too quickly or I might pass out again.

In front of the bed, a wall of metallic grey curtains shielded the unknown. My ankles wobbly in my heeled Oxfords on the hardwood flooring, I kicked off the shoes and attempted to stain again, keeping a hand on the bed to steady myself. My vision blurred in and out of its normal fuzzy focus without my glasses.

Making my way around the edge of the bed, I managed to retain enough balance to shuffle to the curtains. My heart, pumping a steady rhythm in my chest, would have been pounding deafeningly if my mind wasn't clouded by the after-effects of whatever flowed through my veins. My brain would have tried to deny what I already knew was behind the curtain, while my heart assured me it was true.

But numb from my freefalling unconsciousness for God-knew-how-long, my mind and heart were already prepared to face this reality.

Pulling the curtain aside, my intuition was confirmed by the glistening city lights of cars below and sky-scrapers level to my window, all beneath the bleak clouds blackened by the night.

Gotham.

The fear began to creep in first in the back of my mind like a spider casting a web of panic over my conscience. Then it began to drip down into my abdomen, a leaky faucet attached to a pipe that was ready to burst.

And it did.

My lips trembled and my breath hitched in the back of my throat as I stumbled back away from the revealing sight before me. The bed caught me as my mind reeled and tried to remember everything that had happened.

Between when and now, my brain scoured for answers through the fog of drugs and sleep. Everything seemed to have happened so quickly, and words and images ran together like the scenes of an old movie rewinding and pausing and fast-forwarding. There were blank scenes, scenes I wasn't even sure actually happened.

My breaths were more like pants mixed with screams as I brought my hands up to grasp my head.

I'm back.

I'm back in Gotham.

The last thing I truly remembered clearly was Colorado at the airport. And I was met by…

The car.

The jet.

The screaming.

The dreams.

The syringe.

 _The laughs._

My head swam. The room began to spin before my eyes, causing my depth perception to fade and the nausea to rise in my stomach and throat. I heaved, nothing coming out. I slid off the bed and dropped to my knees on the floor. What had happened? What had happened?

He brought me here.

 _G'night, Babydoll…_

Him.

The breakout. I blocked my thoughts from going there. The blood, the trauma, the screams… I couldn't bear to think of it right then. All I could think about was…

The Joker.

Spared in his maniacal plan to escape Arkham, he had managed to track me and get me back into his clutches. But why…?

This was what I couldn't fathom.

WHY?

My breaths turned into rapid gasps, my lungs desperate for something to cling to. I clutched my stomach, hunched over myself. I saw tears plop in front of my face onto the floor. No matter how much I wished it, I knew this wasn't a sick, sick nightmare. How did it come to this?

I tried to regulate my breathing, knowing that if I didn't I would end up passing out again. That was the last thing I needed in that moment, no matter how much I wanted it. At this point, there was nothing I could do to fix or undue this. For now at least.

I swallowed, my throat hoarse from dehydration. This allowed me to take a second to clear my mind before taking in another deep breath. But I couldn't stop the tears from streaming down my face. They flowed inevitably, each filled with the fears of my truth. Squeezing my eyes shut, I searched for words from the past to comfort me, or something that told me I could have prevented this from happening.

Comfort came first in the form of Staz. I didn't allow him to speak. Just stand there with coffee, something routine for us. Every other week we would get coffee at Starbucks and sit and chat about our studies or lives.

But it faded. And it blurred into the form of Dr. Carlson. Confusing at first, but then I allowed myself to calm into seeing him. My mentor and friend. I did allow him to speak to me, hopeful that he would speak words of wisdom to guide me through even a single moment.

" _Don't let him get inside your head."_

My eyes opened in an instant, the words repeating over and over like a broken record. I could barely keep all of the sessions I've had straight in my thoughts. All of the conversations, all of the things I shared with him, things that I didn't reveal to many people…

I… didn't heed the one piece of advice Dr. Carlson ever gave me. No matter how much I tried to steer my conversations to get what I could by revealing things about me while still keeping them as vague as possible…

It didn't matter now.

 _You're such a dumb little fool…_

My brain felt like it was trying to self-destruct as tears rolled down my face at the horrid realization of my situation. At that moment, my brain exploding didn't seem like such a bad thing.

I managed to take in a deep breath. Trying to find different thoughts that would ease my panic attack, I was brought back to a single thing.

Gotham.

He brought me back here. To his empire. But that also meant that I wasn't so far away from home. From Gotham U. And my psychology department.

I didn't know what was going to happen to me…

But I sure as hell didn't want to stay to find out.

I clutched the comforter on the bed to launch myself from the floor and back onto my feet. There was nothing left to do but to investigate my situation fully. And then devise a plan for escape.

It was too simple, I knew that. But I knew I had to narrow it down to just a couple of things for me to do so I didn't overload my brain. I would get to the details and difficulties when I got to them. But right then, I needed to investigate my surroundings in its entirety.

There was a dresser, tall and made of dark wood, empty and ready for use. Not today, I told myself to keep my morale in check.

I wiped the dried tears from my face as I approached a door in the back of the room. Creaking the door open, it revealed only a decent sized dark space. I saw brief silver reflections beyond the room, so I stuck my hand through the opening and felt along the side of the wall until I came upon a light-switch. The overhead bright lighting revealed the space to be a massive walk-in closet; complete with drawers, square nooks, shelves, clothing racks with empty hangers, mirrors, and a grey quilted cushion seat settled in the middle of the closet. It was any girl's dream closet, I supposed, if one had enough to fill it.

Beyond the threshold of the walk-in closet was tile flooring, leading into a bathroom. Entering this space next and turning on the lights, I was instantly met with a blurred reflection of myself in the long mirror lining the porcelain sink and counter. Soap and towels were ready for use here along with yellowish candles bordering the Jacuzzi tub, large enough to fit two people comfortably. A separate shower caged with glass doors glistened next to it.

Everything here was pristine. The only thing I could complain about was the small round window, no latches to open it.

Not that I considered jumping from it. Based on what I saw from the windows in the bedroom, this place was so high up I was certain that if I had jumped I would have been dead before I hit the ground. I thought about some of the wealthier areas of Gotham and wondered where exactly I could have been, at least in relation to everything else. I never ventured to those parts of Gotham, mostly because I had no business there. The city was vast, but you could find everything you needed in a general area.

Looking around me again, I wrapped my arms around my body. Despite the luxury of my prison, it was just as cold as one, and as frightening as one would imagine it being. It only made me wonder if I was alone at this time; if there were others in the same vicinity.

The unknown waited for me beyond the bedroom door. But I knew one thing was certain out there. And that was what glued my feet to the floor.

 _You can't stay in here forever._

 _You know you're not getting out of here any time soon._

No! I refused to believe that.

I found myself in front of the bedroom door, staring at it with the hesitance of a child. Beyond this barrier was a castle; the domain of a grueling crime king with secret armies of unknown size, and a steel will and fortitude.

The possibility of survival? Low, if irresolute.

The probability of escape? Even lower.

But how could I ever hold an ounce of hope if I didn't face this one fear at this moment? One fear at a time, I told myself, I was only really afraid of _who_ might be out there the second I decided to venture out.

You've faced the Joker, my memory reminded me, alone, many times.

 _In a controlled environment. You're in his territory now; the only advantage he needs._

You can hold your own, my heart assured me as I gripped the doorknob and pulled the wood barrier open.

* * *

 **It's not much. But don't worry, the next one is already in the works and should be up this weekend. I just needed to set up the setting and situation, reintroduce you guys to the present.**

 **It's good to be back guys! Special shout-outs to: pity partier, anime0luver, Rose Thorn Catli, WickedlyMinx, and the Guest who appreciated that I was prioritizing my health. Thank you guys for your lovely comments and encouragements.**

 **Again, if you want more (and I can promise Joker will be in the next chapter) please FOLLOW, FAVORITE, and REVIEW.**

 **Thanks!**


	15. Chapter 14: Castle

**And we're back! The last one wasn't much so I thought you guys deserve to have the good stuff happen since you've waited so long.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

It was quiet, the soft hum of the heating system slaving to warm the large penthouse suite that revealed itself before my eyes as I peeked through the growing crack I made in the door.

To my utter amazement, this space was two stories. My bedroom rested atop a set of airy loft stairs on a landing that also held an extra lounging area, connected by a narrow hall. I braved a step out of the room to peer over the chrome railing.

The spacious suite made me breathless. Luxurious in every expense, the living room below me flaunted pristine décor and furniture. Lavish materials and fabrics molded my prison into something fit for royalty; a castle for a prince of corruption and insanity. And I was in the tower.

Lights dimmed to darken the atmosphere, the rest of the suite was a stark contrast to the bedroom where I had awoken. Behind me, the room glimmered with chrome, silver, and grey, with the tasteful flourish of dark wooded furniture. But out here, darkness glowed with gold, plum, slate, and black, emulating the menace that resided here. The stillness didn't assure me that discord was at rest for now; but promised that it waited, coiling like a patient cobra awaiting for the perfect moment to strike.

I approached the top of the stairs with caution, placing a hand on the cool metal railing. My neck craned as I descended each step, trepidation slithering up my legs in shivers of anxiety. The stairs ended at dark marble tiling. To my right was a towering opening into a dark kitchen. Though no lights were on, I could tell by the gleam of the stainless steel appliances that it was either regularly kept, or barely used. In front of me, the tiling splayed out to reveal a long Cherrywood dining table with ten chairs.

I squinted at something at the head of the table, barely recognizing the shape with my poor far-sighted eyes. My heart skipped a beat and I rushed over to the polished table, the tension in my chest loosening as I spotted my glasses.

Thank God!

I fastened them to my face, everything close to me finally clear again. My sight at last returned to normal, the suite only appeared to be more extravagant. But seeing everything so clearly now, only made my situation seem more real, rather than the possibility that it could still be a dream because of how little I could really see and comprehend. It froze me. Taking in every detail around me, I suddenly became morbidly aware of how quiet everything was here.

It just… didn't seem right. I was abducted and brought here. Why would I be left alone? Unless I truly wasn't.

Blood pounded in my ears at the thought. There was only one way to be sure.

At the end of the tiling ahead of me was a door with a peephole. I dashed to it, my hand hovering over the door-handle. It trembled, unable to grasp it. It wouldn't be so easy. My eyes lowered the locks, only two, but the plaque of metal to which handle was attached had a blinking red light. Key card lock. I would be able to leave if I wanted to. Getting in was harder than getting out. But I knew it wouldn't be that simple.

I gently pressed my body to the door and raised to my toes so I could reach the peephole. There was only darkness on the other side.

What? Was it covered? I looked at it more closely, and found that the color was a deep navy, fine lines of thread woven into what looked like a blazer or dress jacket. It was covered, guarded more like, by another person. Leaving would prove to be impossible. For now at least. But I only wondered how often someone did stand there. I only wondered how many people actually did know who lived here.

So… someone was guarding the door. Examining the two separate locks, I noticed they weren't latched. These were extra forces to keep others out rather than in. Which meant no one else, supposedly, was in here with me. My reasoning was likely flawed, I knew that. I mean, I had just woken up from a drug-induced sleep. But it was enough to give me some form of relief.

I stepped away from the door, careful to keep myself quiet. I wasn't sure how much could be heard through these walls or the door, but I figured being cautious to not alert anyone would be the wisest decision.

I turned to investigate the living area. The tile floors dropped down two steps onto carpeting. The black suede L-shaped sectional sofa was large enough two seat at least eight people comfortably. Facing it was a television stand holding a forty inch flat screen. Behind it, a familiar wall of curtains, these gold brocade, laid flush against the windows.

But what instantly caught my notice was the white baby grand piano sitting in the far left corner. I felt my heart warm and flutter for a single beautiful second. I had never seen something so pristine, gleaming in the low light. I didn't even realize that my feet had traveled to its side by the time my hand lifted the lid over the ivory and obsidian keys. My fingers itched to plunk down a note, to hear a comforting sound at a time like this, but I was certain my nerves would collapse and make me skittish like a mouse.

I knitted my brows together, a curious thought forming. A baby grand piano… here. What–

The click at the door startled me. I could almost see the blare of a red alert and a flash of black come across my vision as I realized the sound. I stepped back into the piano, my hand slamming the lid back shut.

A man entered the suite, tall, well over six feet, and strongly built. His dark suit was pressed, but he looked ragged. The first several buttons were undone, revealing part of his barrel chest and a gold chain hanging from his thick neck. His beard could have used a slight trim, but that aside, he looked every bit a gangster's henchman. He sauntered closer, slowly closing the distance between us. As he got closer, a spark of recognition ignited in my stomach. The man who got out of the car at the Denver Airport.

I stumbled back, instantly blocked by the piano. My chest and throat contracted, making it hard for me to breathe.

His face hard and an eyebrow arched, it was clear he could sense my fear, radiating off of me, by how carefully he approached me. He stopped at the top of the two steps.

"I can't believe you're not passed out still." His thick Jersey accent rolled of his tongue. "He, what, doubled the dosage on the jet? Or do ya even remember that?"

I blinked a few times, my memories flashing like the click of a camera. Vaguely, I remembered the soft cushioning of leather seats and the screaming of an engine below me, but my brain refused to go past the brief image of a purple coat. My hand gripped the cover of the piano behind me.

The man shook his head. "Whatever, I guess. Boss jus' wanted me ta come ahead and check on ya. I expected ya to still be up in the room. Woulda been easier for ya, if you'da asked me."

My eyes widened, my breathing shallow through my nose. My mind scrambled for meaning in his words. Every possibility swam before my eyes. They searched my surroundings; a way around him and out, a place to hide. How long did I have until he came along? If I'd still been sleeping what would he have done, or not done?

"No way outta this one, sweetheart," the man drawled. He looked at the golden watch on his wrist. "He should be up any second now. Knowing you're awake, he's gonna want ta see ya."

"Please!" The sounded burst from my throat before I realized what I was doing. His eyebrows rose, crinkling his forehead, but his eyes remained unreadable. I swallowed, my throat dry with apprehension. "Please, just tell me why I'm here." Behind my eyes, pain rose and threatened more tears.

He smirked. "Hell if I fuckin' know. J does what he wants. I don't question it; not matter who's involved. To me, you're just some dollface therapist I'm probably gonna have ta clean off the walls at some point."

I was certain all color drained from my face, because I suddenly felt lightheaded and all he did was just smirk again. My teeth clenched in my mouth so hard I thought they were going to break.

Any second now…?

I bolted from the piano and leaped onto the sectional couch and over the back of it. He was ready though. He darted to the side I had scurried to in an attempt to put some additional distance between us and was there to yank my arm hard enough that I let out a yelp. I should have known he would have expected me to try to make a run for it.

How original…

Gripping my arm behind my back and holding me in a head-lock with his meaty arm around my neck, I clawed at him with my free hand and squirmed as much as I could until the crook of his arm began to squeeze against my throat, cutting off some of my air.

I gasped, but I continued to try to wrestle against his hold.

"Now you're just tryna make it harder on yourself," he grumbled.

I didn't stop trying to struggle. I knew it was useless; someone like me couldn't possibly get the upper hand against someone as hulking as him. But I'd be damned if I didn't try.

He tugged me off to the side, trying to drag me. I grounded my toes into the carpet, to no affect as he eventually picked me up like I weighed nothing. I tried kicking with all of the force I had, in front of me, behind me, but even as I kicked him he didn't flinch. He brought me around to the couch and dropped me onto it. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he stood there looking down at me.

"Now you're gonna stay right there," he said, a vague threat laced in his voice.

"Yeah? You and whose army?" I spat, only half meaning it. I knew I shouldn't challenge him, he was almost twice my height and probably more than that in weight.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a flashy silver handgun, cocking it and pointing it directly at my face like it was the most casual thing he had ever done.

"This one," he replied.

I couldn't take my eyes from it. I swallowed, trying to ease my nerves as thoughts of a sticky, and messy, fate pounded on them. I was kept alive in Arkham for a reason. Now that he had me, Joker wouldn't let me be disposed of so easily. Especially if I hadn't served my full purpose yet, whatever that was supposed to be.

"Now, now, now, Frost, is that any way to treat our special guest?"

I was certain my heart stopped that very moment.

How…?

Long, experience fingers snaked over my shoulders. Inked and ringed, out of the corner of my eye I saw them follow the shoulder seam of my blouse, thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of my neck and collar bones. His cool touch sent a shiver up my spine, but not in the way that made my skin crawl in fear or disgust. It was a slow, warming motion that ended up pooling in my gut, fearless and…

No!

He twirled a wavy lock of my hair that had fallen from the mess of braids pinned to my scalp.

The henchman, Frost, lowered his gun and put it back into the inside of his jacket. For some reason it did nothing to calm my nerves, but it was likely due to the fact that a greater, more dangerous threat stood at my back.

I didn't even hear him come in. Or was he already here? I couldn't make out if that was what made me so afraid, or if it was just to distract me from acknowledging the fact that he was right there, right then.

Frost stepped aside around the ottoman in front of the couch, appearing to give room for the Joker to come and face me himself.

The hands disappeared from my shoulders long enough for me to let out the breath I hadn't realized I had been holding in.

But in a flash of purple and green, he jumped over the back of the couch. I scrambled away from him with a shriek.

"Ha ha ha ha ha." He sat perched on the couch as he stared me down. "Thrilling aren't I?"

I clenched my teeth in an attempt to ground me, my entire body trembling at his unbridled proximity. I tried to inch away as slowly as I could. He still wore the navy Arkham sweatpants all patients wore, the name of the asylum printed in block letters down the long left leg. But underneath his long purple leather coat, his torso remained unclothed, exposing his various intricate tattoos from his neck down to the waistband of his sweatpants; and every groove chiseled into his firm pale form. His physique, from what I could shamelessly see, was forged like a Michelangelo-carved marble statue; precise and refined and artful.

I fixed my knee-length skirt as non-chalantly as possible, having brought my legs up onto the couch in reaction to him startling me. I didn't know why I was suddenly so concerned with my modesty, but being around Joker, especially in this uncontrolled environment, made me extremely self-conscious about what he saw of me. I didn't want to encourage anything. Not that it really mattered here.

He can do whatever he wants. No encouragement needed.

"Up and walkin' already, Babydoll, huh?"

"Caught her tryna to escape too," Frost intervened.

My cheeks flushed as my breathing picked up.

Joker tutted, cocking his head to the side as his gaze hardened. "Now, Babydoll, you didn't really think you could–"

"I wasn't trying to escape!" I blurted. "I was just trying to get away from you!" I shot Frost a stabbing glance.

"What a load of bullshit," Frost muttered under his breath. "And where were you gonna go exactly?"

I shrugged with as much gusto as I could muster as my arms supported me up on the couch. "The bedroom I woke up in perhaps? At least I would have stairs and a door between us."

Frost only snorted.

"You think I'm stupid? You don't think I know that there's someone guarding every entrance to this place? Where else would I go?"

Joker ran a hand through his hair, his expression a mixture between amused and annoyed. "Didn't I tell ya how clever she can be with her misleading questions, Frost? But not clever enough to completely fool anyone with half a brain."

I clenched my teeth. "I'm clever enough for you to need me alive."

I knew I was walking a dangerous line, and I wanted to reprimand myself for speaking so boldly to someone who could snap at any moment and decide that I wasn't worth keeping around anymore. But I had to trust my gut on this one.

I drew my legs closer to my body as I saw hungry darkness cloud over his bright eyes.

"Need…" Joker's voice levelled into a raspy growl, and all color drained from my face. He leaned forward, planting his hands onto the cushions. He crawled toward me at a pace that made me feel like I was playing a deathly game of cat and mouse. My natural reaction was to just try to move back to put some distance between us no matter how useless it would have been. My hands inched back, feeling for the suede fabric behind me.

He suddenly pounced and I found myself trapped under his body, nothing but a gasp escaping from my throat. I hated myself every second that my body was frozen, paralyzed from proximity and fear.

Caged by his arms and solid body, his face was inches from mine and I could feel his hot breath on my lips. For a second I thought I saw him regard them with keen interest before landing on my eyes again.

"Oh, there's a need, Babydoll. One I'm certain you can understand." His fingers fastened on the rims of my glasses and pulled them off, tossing them onto the ottoman.

Warmth spread through me and climbed up my face at his words. Before, whenever he had alluded to crude situations, I was able to ignore him. For the most part it was easier as time went on. Mostly because I knew he wouldn't really be able to do anything. But I am constantly reminded that everything he does here isn't bound by the same strict protection I was (somewhat) guaranteed at Arkham.

Joker stared me down until he pulled his lips into his signature smile, this one laced with deceptive tenderness as his eyes hardened. "But it's better to think of yourself as a convenient desire."

Convenient…? So I was right, mostly. Keeping me alive had its uses. Convenient uses. I could only imagine what those were though. Blackmail? Information?

I could feel it in my soul that I had all the information I needed to solve this puzzle. But the racing thoughts in my head made it nearly impossible for me to focus. The plea in my mind for him to get off of me was loud and endless.

I drew in a brave breath. "Then I'll find out soon enough what that means, won't I?"

My confident façade dropped when he lowered his face over mine again, this time closer. The tip of his nose nearly touched mine.

"I guess we will." His whisper sent shocks coursing through me, and I couldn't ignore the static that tingled between us and fluttered against the skin just centimeters from touching.

The tension lasted for only a moment longer until finally he lifted himself up from the couch. I hustled further along the length of the cushions, relieved at the freedom and the growing space away from him. Shuffling to my feet, my chest heaved for air as I snatched me glasses again and backed closer towards the staircase.

Joker laughed at my apparent fear as Frost continued to glower at me, complicit in his boss's insanity. I couldn't stop the look of utter disgust from forming on my features.

"And what do you plan to do with me until I've served my purpose?" I spat. I knew I didn't want to know the answer to that, but I'd just been drugged, multiple times, abducted, and dragged back to the city I was try to escape, by the person I needed to avoid at all costs. I'd endured thing the past twenty-four hours that no one should have experience in their own nightmares. If I was entitled to anything in my life it was answer to that question.

I stood my ground as Joker glided over to me, his eyes hooded in tired apathy. He stops in front of me, inches from meeting me full flush. Dampness covered the rims of my glasses, my hands sweating as I faced him again. My other hand curled into a fist, my fingernails stinging the soft skin, to hide this nervous reaction.

Joker stared down at me, eyes unreadable, a craving that burned holes into my mind as if he was trying to read it. A bony finger met my wrist, sending cold tingles up my arm. I tried not to visibly shiver and I dropped my eyes, only to have them land on the black calligraphic tattoo of his name inked on his mid-section. I had lost count how many times my face had reddened at his presence tonight already.

He traced circles on my wrist before sliding his gentle fingers up my arm. He brushed a fallen lock of hair from my shoulder, the tips of his fingers brushing against my neck. I bit my tongue and drew in a breath to prevent me from whimpering out a sound.

Sliding his fingers into the woven, pinned mess of my hair, he grasped the back of my head and yanked my head up to look up at him. Several pins flew from my hair and I fought the tears and the scream that threatened to escape from me. Pain roaring in my scalp, I squeezed my fist tighter, stinging my palm even more, to the point where I was certain I had drawn blood.

Joker didn't hide the serious, yet thirsty, expression on his features. He brought his lips to my ear and closed the remaining space between us by reaching his other hand around to the small of my back and nudged me flush against him. "I guess that'll depend on you, Babydoll."

My head swam with many things; many of them horrifying, others confusing, and a few that I refused to name.

Finally, he released his grip on my hair and my back with as much force as he had used to seize me. I stumbled back with an audible gasp and took off towards the stairs. I clambered up the steps as the tall ceilings echoed his laughs and rang in my ears and into my brain.

Reaching the top of the landing, I hurled myself into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. I pressed against it with my back, my breathing escaping me in small shrieks. My body slid down to the floor and I grasped at my head, allowing the waterfall of tears to flow freely down my cheeks.

For the first time in my life, I didn't have a plan. My quick thinking didn't have a way to get me out of this right now.

I didn't know what to do.

* * *

 **Have you guys ever written a character for a fanfic that when you haven't written them for a while they just sort of give you two big middle-fingers up? Yeah, that was J for this chapter. He didn't want to cooperate because it had been so long since I'd last written him. Thankfully, he started to warm up to me again as I continued to keep writing drafts of how his scene could have gone until it felt natural again.**

 **Thank you so much for reading! Reader shout-out to Samantha Moriarty for the kindest comment, and to all who have commented on my story. It means a lot to me and I am extremely thankful! Please feel free to favorite, follow, and review! Have a good one guys!**


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